The Road Not Taken
by LittleFairy78
Summary: Sequel to "The Longest Day". Shawn has left. Lassiter is on suspension. Henry is being, well, Henry. And Gus is worried. He wants for his friend to come back, but maybe it's not up to him to find Shawn. Maybe somebody else has to make the first step.
1. The Lion's Den

The Road Not Taken

**The Road Not Taken**

Summary:

Sequel to "The Longest Day".

Shawn has left.

Lassiter is on suspension.

Henry is behaving like an ass.

Gus is worried.

And his patience is running thin. It seems that he is the only one who wants his friend to come back. Right now, he's willing to go any lengths to get what he wants.

But what made Shawn leave in the first place? And where is he?

Maybe the only one who can possibly find him isn't Gus, but somebody else. Somebody who needs to stop behaving like an ass first.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

The story title is the title of a poem by Robert Frost. I don't own that poem, either.

This story continues straight where "The Longest Day" left off. It doesn't really make sense if you haven't read "The Longest Day" first.

The reason why I split this into two stories is that this one is actually going to go into a different direction than "The Longest Day" did. This is going to be a story about the past, though it's set in the present. And it's going to be a story mainly about our favorite dysfunctional duo, and about the glue that's struggling to keep them together – in other words, Gus.

Of course, our other favorite characters make appearances, too. As might some characters from Shawn's past.

_- "He was my best friend. I could always tell when he was getting antsy, when he wanted to run. But this time, there were no warning signs. He just vanished into thin air."_

_- "Life's lesson #20. People lie. And they leave without warning. Life sucks."_

_**The Old and the Restless**_

**Chapter 1**** – The Lion's Den**

Gus sat in his car, idling at the curb. He had been sitting here for fifteen minutes now, deliberating whether or not he really wanted to do this.

But did he even have a choice?

It had been two days now since Shawn had left, and so far Gus hadn't been able to find a single trace of his friend. And he had been doing nothing but search for Shawn. The little Gus had found out was worrying him greatly.

Shawn had left notice with his landlord that he wouldn't be around for a while and had arranged for his rent to be transferred monthly from his account. Shawn's single potted plant had gone into the possession of his neighbor Mrs. Godowsky. And instead of going onto one of his e-bay shopping binges, Shawn had invested the money from their last solved case into paying off the rent for the office for the upcoming months. Shawn's cell phone was turned off and his large backpack was gone from his closet.

Shawn hadn't just up and left on a hunch.

He had gone. He had planned on not being around for some time. Months, maybe even longer.

Gus wasn't ready to accept that.

Chief Vick and Juliet had taken those news with quite some surprise, but that had been it.

That had been it, who could believe that?

Chief Vick had told him she couldn't put a BOLO out on Shawn's bike just because he had left town. Juliet had told him the same. For as long Shawn had left on his own and there was no sign of foul play, there was nothing either of them could do officially.

Nothing they could do, what was that supposed to mean? Shawn was working for the police, for crying out loud! Whenever Chief Vick needed help, she called him and he always came to help immediately. _Always_. Without question. And now that Shawn quite obviously needed help, she told him that there was nothing she could do? Shawn was not in his right mind, that should definitely count as foul play, shouldn't it?

So after Gus' quest for help had been blown off by the Chief and Juliet and they had gone back to wrap up the jewel heist case – which, just for the record, Shawn had solved for them – Gus had needed to look somewhere else for help.

He should have known that going to Shawn's father was the wrong choice. Especially after he had seen Henry Spencer storm out of the hospital the day after Shawn and Lassiter had been kidnapped by those thieves. Gus still didn't know what exactly had happened between Shawn and his father that day, but from all Gus knew they hadn't talked to each other since.

Nevertheless, there had been a tiny bit of hope that maybe Shawn's father knew something more about Shawn's disappearance. They had been getting closer again over the two past two years, after all. Maybe there was something Henry Spencer knew. Or maybe, Shawn had told his father something about where he was going, if only to spite him.

Whatever it was, Gus couldn't let the chance that Henry knew something pass by.

But he should have known it was a bad idea.

Henry Spencer hadn't just been his usual grumpy self. No, not by a long shot. In fact, he had behaved like a total and complete ass.

_"Gus, that's what Shawn does. When things get tough, he runs. He'll come back eventually, tail tucked between his legs__, behaving as if nothing had happened. If I were you, I wouldn't worry."_

That had been it.

That had been it!

No mention of the fact that this time, Shawn had left a lot of things he cared for behind.

Not a word about the fact that this time, Shawn hadn't left because he wanted to see the world, because he wanted to get to know new people and make new experiences.

This time, Shawn had left because he had killed somebody.

Shouldn't his father of all people understand that this was something different?

But obviously, in Henry Spencer's world that fact didn't count. So since Gus couldn't expect any help from him, there really was only one person left.

And if he kept sitting in the car for any longer, he was fairly sure that the neighbors would call the police. Not that this wouldn't be interesting, but still. It might be better not to push his luck.

Gus took a deep breath and killed the engine. He got out of the car, locked up and walked towards the front door. The bell echoed loudly in the silence of the house, but Gus knew that somebody was home. The car was standing in the driveway.

After a minute or two, there were steps in the hallway, then the door was opened.

Gus thought he had probably never seen Lassiter without a tie before. But there he stood, dressed in black slacks, a white t-shirt and a with very perplexed expression on his face.

"Guster?"

"Can I come in?"

Lassiter frowned, but after a moment he opened the door wider. "All right."

The detective led Gus through to the kitchen where he gestured for Gus to take a seat. Lassiter's left wrist was still in a cast and from his movements it was obvious that he was careful in moving his right arm as well. Gus wondered whatever the doctor who had cleared the detective for desk duty had been thinking.

He sat down in a chair and Lassiter took a seat so that he was facing him.

"So Guster, what is this all about? I'm guessing that this is not a social visit."

Gus sighed. "No, it is not. You have heard about Shawn?"

The corners of Lassiter's mouth twitched slightly, but Gus couldn't tell whether he was trying to stifle a laugh or a grimace.

"If you mean whether the news about Spencers abrupt departure has reached me, the answer is yes. O'Hara seemed in some degree of distress about it, though I can't really understand why."

Gus huffed. "She's obviously not distressed enough to start looking for him."

This time, Lassiter did laugh. "Guster, O'Hara is a police officer, not the clerk at the _Lost & Found_ desk. There is nothing she can do. It might rock your world, but Spencer leaving town is not a crime. Some people might even consider it a blessing. And though I thought I'd never say that, Spencer is an adult who is perfectly capable of making his own decisions. If he decides to leave Santa Barbara, that's certainly not a reason to mobilize the Army. As far as I know, that's not even the first time he simply left."

Gus sighed. "That was different."

"That might be, but it doesn't change a thing. Spencer left on his own volition. What do you want me to do? Find him and drag him back kicking and screaming?"

Gus slammed his hand on the tale, palm down. Lassiter didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Guster…"

"No. You were there, weren't you? Shawn didn't just leave because he was bored, or because he wants to see something new. He left because he killed somebody."

Lassiter sighed and raised his hand to run it through his hair, but let the arm sink back again when the movement pulled at his injured shoulder.

"What do you want me to say to that? Yes, Spencer killed somebody. He held the gun and it went off as they were struggling for it. He didn't want it to happen, and his actions were perfectly justified. The report on the shooting has been filed away without further consequences for him. It wasn't even the reason for his four week suspension from the department."

Gus shook his head. "That's not the point. Why doesn't anyone see that? Shawn killed somebody. _Shawn_. He can't just file that away under _shit happens_ and go on with his life. That's not him."

"And maybe that is the problem, Guster. People who do police work need to be able to file certain things away and go on with their life. It's not a pretty job, and it's most certainly not a job that's about the fun and the entertainment. After two years, maybe it was about time Spencer finally learned that."

"You can't be serious!"

Lassiter shook his head. "Of course I am serious, Guster. I'm more than serious. Spencer has treated his consulting work as nothing but an everlasting party so far. He shows up, tricks himself into becoming part of the investigation, makes fun of everybody and everything, then he does his little psychic dog-and-pony show, takes the check and leaves. And now that he gets to experience the ugly side of this job firsthand and he up and runs away. That should tell you something, shouldn't it?"

Gus shook his head. "That's not the point, Lassiter. That's not the point at all."

"Then what is the point, Guster?"

Gus sighed. "This is not about whether or not Shawn is capable of being a police consultant after what happened. This isn't about his job at all. This is about Shawn. He killed a man, detective. Shawn took a life. And no matter where he goes, he won't be able to run away from that."

Lassiter leaned back in his chair and watched Gus for a long moment. Finally, he sighed. "I can only repeat myself, Guster. What do you want me to do? Even if you're right, Spencer is long gone. He obviously thinks running away will help him, so who am I to disagree? He needs to figure that out for himself."

Gus shook his head at so much thick-headedness. "So if Juliet was upset about killing somebody on duty and decided to leave, you'd just let her go as well?"

Lassiter raised one eyebrow. "That is a ridiculous comparison, Guster."

"So you would."

"I didn't say that. But O'Hara is a cop. She knows what her job might require her to do one day. If she wasn't able to stand that, she'd be in the wrong job. Spencer is not even a cop. Maybe what happened up on that mountain finally taught him that."

Gus got up from his chair. He should have known that he couldn't expect any help from Lassiter.

"All right. You just sit on your ass and celebrate that Shawn is finally out of your hair. But I'm not going to let my friend go through this alone. Shawn needs help now, and I am not going to leave him hanging when he needs me. It's sad that nobody else seems to see it that way, especially since Shawn is always the first to volunteer if you needed help."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "As if I ever needed Spencer's help on something!"

Gus only shook his head with a sigh and turned towards the door. While leaving, he spoke over his shoulder, and he couldn't stop the venom from seeping into his voice.

"Maybe you should think again about how you solved that case of the dead astronomer. From what I remember, solving it pulled you out of a pretty dark place. Congratulations on finding all those clues on your own."

And he turned around and left. If nobody was willing to help him find Shawn, he needed to do it on his own. But whatever it took, he would not leave Shawn alone with this.

Screw Lassiter, screw Henry Spencer, Jules and the Chief. Gus would find Shawn with or without their help.

Angrily, he slammed his car door close behind himself and started the engine. He drove all the way to the Psych office with his jaw clenched in anger. He just couldn't believe that those people, Shawn's so-called friends and family, cared so little about his wellbeing. He might understand that there was no official way for Chief Vick and Juliet to look for Shawn, but he was their friend, for crying out loud! Surely there were unofficial way to keep an eye out for him.

But if they didn't want to help find Shawn, Gus would do it alone.

Back at the office, Gus sat down at his desk and pulled out his address book. Shawn always complained about him being an anal neat freak who needed to keep track of everything. But right now, that trait might pay off. His address book contained everything he knew about Shawn's previous jobs, some friends he had made over the years, and a couple of other people who might know something about Shawn.

Gus opened the address book, picked up the receiver and drew a deep breath. The first number he was about to call was a long shot. It was unlikely that Shawn would go there. And even if he did, it was impossible that he had managed to cross the country and get to New Jersey on his bike in three days. But maybe he had called. Anyway, Gus couldn't afford not to call, not on the off-chance that Shawn had called her.

Gus drew another deep breath and dialed.


	2. Sometimes, all it takes is

Okay, because I'm a nice person ;-), I give you chapter 2 a lot earlier than I had planned. Just because not much happens in chapter 1, but a lot of more interesting things happen in chapter 2.

And don't worry, the story is actually finished already. Entirely. Which means you're guaranteed to get the end sooner or later. Later rather than sooner, because it's grown endlessly long. But I think I won't hear any complaints about that. Just one more thing: Shawn will be in the story later on. I promise. But until we get there, a lot of other things have to happen first. So you'll have to wait for a little while until you see our favourite psychic again. But I'll try to make up for that with the other characters we all love so much. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 2 – Sometimes, all it takes is a little escalation**

All right, so maybe Juliet wasn't as bad as Gus had thought. Not quite as bad. She seemed genuinely worried about Shawn's disappearance, and genuinely unhappy about the fact that she couldn't do anything to find him officially.

Gus had simply been going at this from the wrong direction. So what if the police couldn't do anything about finding Shawn officially? It didn't matter quite as much if there were other, more unofficial ways to be employed.

Gus' conversation with Shawn's mother from the previous day hadn't yielded any results. It wasn't really surprising, but it had been worth a try.

As it turned out, Margaret Spencer hadn't even known about Shawn's stay in the hospital in the first place. Not exactly a big surprise, either, but it had put Gus in the awkward need to explain things to her. That was one trait all three members of Shawn's family shared – If they wanted to know something, they didn't leave off until you told them.

And Gus had never been really good at withstanding a Spencer interrogation. He always yielded. Most quickly to Henry, sometimes he was able to stand up to Shawn for a little longer, but Margaret Spencer was a force to be reckoned with.

And so Gus had caved and told Shawn's mother what had happened. As expected, she wasn't too worried about Shawn's hospital stay once she had gotten to know that he had been released so quickly. But her reaction to the revelation that Shawn had been forced to shoot a man had been one of undisguised shock. Contrary to Henry, she had been openly worried about how her son was coping with what had happened.

But that didn't change the fact that Shawn hadn't been in contact with her for a few weeks now. He hadn't called her after he had left the hospital.

Margaret had ended the conversation with the promise to get into contact as soon as she heard anything from Shawn.

So the conversation with Shawn's mother hadn't been a step towards progress in finding Shawn. But it had given Gus an idea – and that's where the part about Juliet not being so bad after all came in.

Shawn hadn't called his mother before he left, but maybe he had called somebody else. Now Gus' only problem was how to figure out what calls had been made from Shawn's landline and cell phone.

If Shawn kept his phone bills after he had paid them, Gus didn't know where. Besides, those would only give him a list of calls from the previous month and not the ones Shawn had made after his kidnapping.

So Gus had gone back to the police station and had asked Juliet for Shawn's phone records.

And now Gus was sitting in the Psych office again. In front of him were two lists with phone numbers, courtesy of an acquaintance of Juliet's at the phone company who owed her a favor or two. Gus hadn't asked, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Officially, he had never been to the police station this morning. Officially, Gus had never received copies of Shawn's phone records for the past six months.

The only thing that did matter was that he had something that might help him try to figure out where his friend had gone.

Gus had crossed out his own landline, his cell phone, Henry's numbers and all numbers connected with the police department from the lists and was now running the remaining numbers through a reverse phone directory on the internet, starting with the most recent calls and working backwards. It was going slowly, and the lists were long. Gus didn't know when Shawn even found the time to make all those calls, but there were over thirty numbers on the lists which Gus needed to sort through.

He was so engrossed in his work that he didn't hear the knock on the door. He only became aware that there was somebody else in the office with him when steps were approaching his desk.

"I'm sorry, the office is closed." Gus mumbled without really looking up.

"I didn't think I'd need an appointment to see the place where my son works."

Gus looked up abruptly, but there was no mistaking the words. Or the voice.

Margaret Spencer stood in front of Gus' desk, looking down at him with a bemused expression on her face. Gus hadn't seen Shawn's mother in over ten years, but she hadn't changed much. Not that much, at least.

Shawn had inherited a lot of his mother's looks. Her hair was one feature he had inherited, though hers was longer, tied back into a ponytail, and slightly streaked with grey now. But the most obvious inheritance Shawn could claim from his mother were his eyes. Gus would never tell it to Shawn's face, but a lot of his friend's facial expression and gestures were mirroring his father to the last detail. It were the things you only noticed as somebody who knew Shawn and Henry well. The more obvious similarities, however, lay between Shawn and his mother.

And right now, a pair of hazel eyes which were scarily similar to Shawn's were looking down at Gus in bemusement.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"Mrs. Spencer." Gus sputtered, only to flinch immediately. Did Shawn's mom still go by her married name? She had been divorced for over fifteen years now. To Gus' knowledge, she had never remarried, but he knew that things had gotten ugly between her and Shawn's father before the divorce. What if she had changed back to her maiden name?

Margaret saw Gus recoil and seemed to grasp on what this was about. She chuckled.

"Yes, the name is still Spencer. I prefer to have the same last name as my only child."

Finally, Gus overcame his surprise and felt able to move again. He got up from his chair and went around the desk to greet his visitor.

"Mrs. Spencer, that's…well, it's quite a surprise."

He stretched out his hand, suddenly quite insecure on how to greet somebody he had at one time seen on a daily basis but whom he hadn't seen for many years now. Margaret smiled and before Gus knew it, she had drawn him into a tight embrace. When she withdrew, she took Gus by the arms and looked him up and down.

"Burton Guster, look at you. I hate to be a person who says these kind of things, but you're all grown up! How long has it been, ten years?"

"Something like it, yes. Since you moved to New Jersey." He gestured for her to take a seat. "Erm, I don't want to sound rude, but what are you doing here?"

Margaret sat down in Shawn's desk chair and ran a hand along the desk's surface as she looked at the clutter and small items strewn around the desktop. After a moment, she looked up at Gus with both eyebrows raised.

"Do you honestly think I'd be staying in New Jersey after what you told me yesterday? I booked a seat on the overnight flight and here I am. I'd have been here sooner, but first our flight got delayed and then the airline lost my luggage and I had to wait for them to find it again."

Only now did Gus notice the bag Margaret had put down beside his desk. It was a normal-sized sports bag, not a suitcase, but it looked well-filled.

"How long do you plan to stay?"

Margaret shrugged. "How about until we find out where Shawn is?"

Gus had to smile at that. "That sounds like a plan. Problem is that I have no idea where he could be."

"We'll find out, Gus. Now, did you find out anything since we talked yesterday?"

Gus shook his head. "No, nothing so far. I've got his phone records; I'm trying to figure out whether he called anybody before he left."

Margaret smiled. "Shawn was never one to call ahead. I doubt you're going to find anything in there."

Gus nodded. "I know. But I just felt that I had to try."

Margaret thought for a moment, then she got up from her chair. "I think we should start at the beginning."

"Pardon me?"

"You said Shawn and Henry had a fight before Shawn left, right?"

Gus shrugged. "I think so, yes. But Shawn didn't want to tell me what it was about. All I know is that Mr. Spencer stormed out of the hospital."

Margaret rolled her eyes. "He was always one for the dramatic exits. And maybe that's the reason why Shawn decided to take off. Or part of the reason. It wouldn't be the first time."

"So what do you suggest we do now?"

Margaret smiled. "I say we take the bull by his horns." She grabbed her bag and went over towards the door. When she noticed that Gus was not following her, she stopped and turned around.

"What are you waiting for, Gus? You need to drive, I took a cab from the airport. Come on!"

Gus got up and followed Shawn's mother out of the office. Because, honestly, what else could he do? Saying no to a Spencer simply was not an option.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It was a perfect day for fishing. The weather was sunny, the sea was still and a light breeze was blowing in from the ocean. The perfect weather to get up early in the morning, take his boat and go out on the ocean for a few hours.

Only that Henry hadn't gone fishing.

He had gotten up early in the morning, he had packed ice into his cooler, had fixed himself some sandwiches to take along. But he hadn't left.

It was ridiculous, really. There was no good reason why he should possibly stay at home. It wasn't as if Shawn was going to drop by, or call. Shawn had run away – again. It was nothing new. It had happened before, and it would happen again. It was what Shawn did. When things got tough, he ran away.

Granted, this time things had gotten a lot tougher for Shawn than they had ever before. He had killed a man.

The action had been justified. But of course that was not the point. If Shawn was doing things by the book, this whole thing would have never happened. If Shawn was playing by the rules, if he wasn't secretly investigating crimes only to do his idiotic psychic show later on, none of this would have happened. It was a hard lesson to learn, granted.

Henry had tried to warn him time and again, he had told his son over and over again that something like this might happen if he screwed with the rules of proper police work, but Shawn had never listened. So maybe Shawn needed to learn this lesson the hard way.

It wasn't Henry's problem that he chose to deal with it by running away.

It wasn't his fault, either. He had never mollycoddled Shawn, had never strayed from the truth just to protect his son's sensibilities. If Shawn screwed up, Henry told him.

And Shawn had screwed up big time this time.

If he wanted to run away from that, Henry certainly wasn't going to go panicking like Gus did. Sooner or later, Shawn would come back again. He always did.

Shawn was a grownup, there was no need to start going into a frenzy because he left town. Sooner or later, Gus would have to learn that.

So it was absolutely ridiculous that Henry hadn't gone out fishing this morning.

But for some reason, he hadn't.

Instead he had put the ice from the cooler back into the freezer, had eaten the sandwiches at the kitchen table and now had ended up drinking another cup of coffee and reading the paper. Again.

He was halfway through the sports section when he heard a car drive up to the house. Henry craned his neck to look out the window and caught sight of Gus' little blue car. With a sigh, he folded the paper and downed the remains of his near-cold coffee. He had the feeling that this was not going to be pretty.

Maybe a minute later, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Henry heard the door open and started to turn around. "Gus, if you're here to try and continue our conversation from yesterday, I can only…"

Henry froze.

Gus was standing in the doorway, but Henry didn't even see him. His eyes were fixed solely on the person who had come into the kitchen before Gus. For a split second, Henry forgot how to think.

Margaret still looked the same as she had the last time Henry had seen her, more than ten years ago now. There were some slight changes, a few strands of grey hair and some more lines around her eyes than he remembered, but there weren't enough changes to render her unrecognizable. Somehow, Henry had always imagined their first meeting after so many years differently. Not that he had planned on meeting his ex-wife again in the near future. Or the not-so near future, come to think of it.

Henry quickly got up from his chair and turned towards Gus, a finger pointed accusingly at his son's friend.

"Did you call her, Gus?"

"Still the charmer." Margaret interrupted. "Hello Henry. It's been a while."

"Margaret." Henry heard how tight his own voice was, and he felt his anger rising. It was more than ten years now, he should really be able to keep his cool when coming to face with his ex-wife.

"What are you doing here?"

Margaret shrugged and walked further into the kitchen. "Gus called and told me what happened. What did you expect me to do? Stay in New Jersey and wait to see if somebody calls me when he gets back?"

Henry shrugged and went over to get himself another cup of coffee. "It's not the first time Shawn ran away, Margaret. You know that."

"No, but it's the first time that he killed somebody. Or is there something else you're not telling me?"

Henry sighed. "No."

He leaned back against the kitchen counter and took a sip of his coffee as he regarded is former wife.

It was a little disconcerting to see Margaret standing in this room again. This house had been their home for nearly eighteen years before they had separated. They had moved in right after their marriage. They had raised Shawn here, from the very first days after he was born to the moment he had left and moved in with Margaret at the age of seventeen. They had eaten, drunk, lived, loved, fought, yelled, made-up and fought again in this house for eighteen years.

After Margaret had moved out, it had taken Henry endless months to exorcize the demons of their live together from the house. It had taken time, endless time, but he had finally managed to see it as his house again. Not theirs. _His_. Their lives were no longer interwoven, aside from some memories there was nothing that connected them anymore.

Seeing Margaret standing in this kitchen – _his_ kitchen – was extremely disconcerting. It brought back too many memories, yet at the same time she seemed completely out of place in this setting.

"So why are you here? Are you a part of the _'rescue Shawn'_ team now?"

"He is my son, Henry." Margaret's voice was sharp. "And he left without a trace. Without telling anybody where he went. He killed somebody and then he just left. Are you trying to tell me that this is no reason to worry?"

Henry put down his coffee and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "This is Shawn we're talking about. He ran away before."

"We're going in circles here, Henry. I'll tell you again, he never killed somebody before."

"So what are you going to do? Get in the car and drive around the country to find him? Good luck with that!"

Margaret drew a deep breath. "No, of course not. But what we can do is try to figure out where he went."

"Oh, and how are you going to do that?"

"By finding out why he left in the first place." Margaret's voice was sharp. "So how about you tell me what the two of you fought about?"

Henry cast a short glance towards Gus, who was lingering near the door in obvious discomfort. So Gus had told Margaret about that as well. He should have known.

"I was just giving my son my honest opinion on what happened."

Margaret raised one eyebrow. "In your usual charming and diplomatic way, I suppose."

"Listen Margaret, I don't know what you want to hear from me. Yes, Shawn and I had a fight. We had a fight because as usual, he didn't want to hear the truth."

"Your truth, or which truth exactly are we talking about?"

"Damn it Margaret, this is not the time for your stupid nitpicking. The truth is, Shawn got into this whole situation because he insists on doing a cop's job by cheating and lying. I've warned him about what could possibly happen if he keeps this whole stupid charade up and he didn't listen. Now he's faced with the consequences I warned him about and he runs away. That's what happened. A reaction that is so typical Shawn that I don't understand why everybody is so surprised by it!"

Margaret's eyes narrowed in anger. "Then maybe you should ask yourself why Shawn is reacting that way. Why do you think he'd rather leave than face another of your lectures on why you are so disappointed in him?"

"Oh, so now this is all my fault again?"

Henry couldn't believe how that woman still managed to push his buttons, even though they hadn't seen each other in over ten years.

But Margaret didn't back down. She stood in front of him in a pose Henry knew only too well. Hands on her hips, head tilted slightly upward, her hazel eyes narrowed and glaring at him. That posture had always been reserved for when she had been really pissed off about something. Mostly about Henry. And it was a posture Shawn could mimic perfectly.

"Well, I wasn't the one who was constantly pushing Shawn into becoming something he didn't want to be!"

Henry huffed. "No, you were always too busy with yourself to push him into anything! If you had your way, Shawn could do whatever he wanted, just as long as he didn't get in the way of your plans!"

"Oh now that's a classic! You are berating me about how I raised our son?"

Henry couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You didn't raise him, Margaret! That's exactly the problem! Or why do you think he didn't go with you when you left?"

Margaret shook her head in exasperation. "I can't believe this! We decided that it would be better for Shawn not to be torn out of his environment. We decided that _together_, Henry! And now you twist this and turn me into the bad mother again. But tell me, super-Dad, if you were such a great influence on Shawn, why did he come to live with me before he even finished high-school?"

Henry felt that tiny knot of rage in his stomach expand. It was only Margaret who could provoke that reaction in him, and it was highly disconcerting that she could still do so after so many years apart. But he most certainly wouldn't back down and give in now. He wouldn't grant her that triumph.

"He came to live with you because you kept on whining to him about how lonely you were and what a bastard I was. He came to live with you because there were no rules he had to follow, because you didn't set him any boundaries!"

"That is so…"

"STOP!"

Henry spun around at the unexpected interruption, and from the corner of his eyes he saw Margaret mimic the movement. Gus was standing between them now, and his face was furious. Up until this moment, Henry had completely forgotten that his son's friend was still there. But friend or not, he would not be talked to in that tone, not in his own house.

"What do you think…"

"You will stop this now. Both of you!" Gus pointed a finger first at Henry, then at Margaret.

"I've had enough of this! In case you had forgotten, this isn't about you. It's about Shawn! I'm sick and tired of listening to you two tearing each other's hair out about things that happened fifteen years ago. And just for the record, neither of you earned the title _Parent of the Year_ during that time!"

Henry clenched his teeth, barely controlling his anger. "Burton, if you know what's good for you, you will stop right here."

But not even the use of his given name could deter Gus from his path right now.

"No, I will not stop. Obviously, somebody has to tell you, and I know that Shawn never will. Do you even know how he felt during that time? Do you even care how unbearable it was for him to watch the two of you go at each other like that every day? No, obviously you don't! You didn't back then, and even now you turn it into something that is all about you! Do you know how many times he came over to my place because he couldn't stand your constant yelling anymore?"

Margaret looked flustered. "He never…"

"Yes, he did. Whenever the two of you decided to spend your evening yelling at each other he climbed out the window and came over to my place! He threw stones on my window until I opened it up, and then he spent the night at my place! During the months before you two finally decided to separate, he came by at least twice a week, sometimes more often. In the end, I simply left the window open and pulled out the guest mattress for him before I went to bed. He always got up early and snuck back home so that you wouldn't notice. You didn't know that, did you? Of course not."

Henry drew a breath to say something, anything, but Gus cut him short before he even had the chance.

"When the two of you decided to separate, Shawn was _glad_. Do you get that? _Glad_. And he didn't stay with you," he pointed at Henry, "because he wanted to. He stayed with you because he was not given a choice. Because you," the finger turned to Margaret, "simply left. And later, when he moved in with you Mrs. Spencer, it certainly wasn't because he wanted to live with you. He did so because he couldn't stand to live with his father anymore. He never chose either of you, he always made a choice against one of you! And later he left Santa Barbara because he didn't want to stay with either of you. So I'd say neither of you can really claim to have been the best parent possible to Shawn. And do you know what? It doesn't matter. Because somehow, Shawn turned out to be a great guy despite how much both of you screwed up. And now he's gone, and I for one want him to come back. I let him leave the first time, after we finished high school. I couldn't stop him back then because he needed to get out before both of you drove him mad. But I won't let that happen another time. I won't let him just up and leave this time, because I for one have no desire to wait another five years before I see my best friend again. So I suggest the both of you stop this nonsense right now and focus on what's really important. Can you do that, just for once? Focus on Shawn, and not on yourselves? I'd really appreciate that, but if you think you can't, I'm just going to find him on my own."

And without waiting for a reaction from either of them, Gus turned around and stormed out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

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As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. Thanks. And the next update should by up by the end of the week, I think. Until then.

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	3. Don't make me say I was wrong

**A/N:** From previous postings of this story I know that the travel times that will show up in this chapter and the next ones are a bit utopian. I took the distances and travel times from sites on the internet, and since I don't have any knowledge about the reality of traveling in California (or the US in general) I simply copied them. Bear with me if they're wrong or unrealistic – I come from a country in which most highways don't have a speed limit ;-)

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**Chapter 3 – ****Don't make me say I was wrong**

After the front door slammed shut, an awkward silence settled over the kitchen. It was broken only by the sound of a car door slamming and an engine springing to life as Gus drove off.

After another minute or two, Henry finally mustered up the courage to turn his head away from the door through which Gus had vanished and back at his ex-wife. Margaret was also looking quite startled, but when she turned back towards Henry, the corners of her mouth twitched slightly as she nodded appreciatively.

"He sure has grown up."

Henry only shook his head, still unable to grasp what had happened. "Did Gus just yell at us?"

Margaret chuckled slightly. "I think so."

Henry was still shaking his head. "No, I'm serious. Did Gus just yell at us? Gus never yells at anybody. Well, maybe at Shawn, but not at anybody else. Gus starts stuttering as soon as he even thinks about disagreeing with somebody."

Margaret slowly walked over towards the kitchen table and sat down in one of the chairs.

"He's worried about Shawn."

Henry turned away from her and busied himself with pouring another cup of coffee. "And it's the general consensus that I am not."

It wasn't a question, but still Margaret answered. "I've only been here for a little less than an hour, but from what Gus told me yes, that is the case."

Henry put his cup down on the kitchen table and raised an empty mug at his ex-wife in silent question. Margaret nodded and Henry began to pour another cup. He brought it over towards the table and sat down in one of the empty chairs.

"Just for the record, I do care about Shawn. I just don't go into a panic because he does something he's done before."

Margaret drew a deep breath before she answered. Henry still knew her well enough to see that she was biting back a remark. He was actually quite grateful for her self-restraint. He himself didn't know whether he could resist the temptation of getting into another argument with her. He knew that it was senseless to argue about things that lay so long in the past, but he just couldn't help himself.

Truth was that honestly – and this was something Henry would never admit out loud – he didn't know what to do. Henry didn't know how to deal with the sudden reappearance of his ex-wife whom he hadn't seen in so many years. Especially not under these circumstances. Arguing was terra firma for him, he knew how to argue with Margaret.

For over a year before their divorce he had hardly done anything else.

Margaret watched him for a few long seconds, then she shook her head with a chuckle.

"You still haven't changed one bit."

"Oh, and what's that supposed to mean?"

Henry felt his own voice rise again and bit his lip in frustration. If Margaret could keep her temper in check, so could he. He only needed to keep a tight reign on himself.

"You just can't get out of your skin. It's no sign of weakness to admit that you're worried about your son, you know? This is different than when he took off before, Henry."

Henry took a long sip of his coffee as he deliberated Margaret's words. Of course this was different than before. It was always different than the last time. But that didn't matter, did it? It didn't matter why Shawn had left because fact was that he had left. And whether or not they knew why didn't change a thing about their chances of finding him. Shawn could be in Wisconsin by now. Or in Mexico, come to think of it.

"Even if that's the case, it doesn't change a thing. Admitting that it's different won't tell us where he went, either."

Margaret put her coffee cup down and cocked her head to the side as she regarded Henry. "For all those years of our marriage your life revolved solely about being a cop, and now you want to tell me that you have no idea how to start looking for your own son? I thought they only made you hand in your badge and gun when you resigned."

Henry swallowed down his reply to that. Margaret was right, but he would most certainly not admit that. If he wanted to, there were enough strings he could pull to find out more about Shawn's whereabouts. He could call in a few favors. But doing that would mean admitting that he had been wrong. He could just as well shout from the rooftops that he had joined the _'we're frenzied about Shawn's disappearance'_-club.

But then he looked at Margaret and knew that he didn't really have a choice in that matter. Margaret had that look in her eyes, the one that promised she'd be bugging him about this until he caved. So basically it was just a question of whether he'd give in immediately or whether he'd rather face the murder charges coming towards him if he stayed in the same room as his ex-wife for any time longer.

He got up from his chair, put his cup away and reached for his jacket.

"What are you doing?"

"Learning how to tap-dance. What does it look like I'm doing, Margaret? I'm doing just what you told me to do. I'll start looking for Shawn."

Margaret looked taken aback, as if she had expected this to become a longer debate. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

Henry just shook his head. "I thought you had given up trying to understand me years ago. Don't start again now, it'll only give you a headache."

Margaret looked pretty miffed, but she got up from her chair and made move to follow Henry out of the house.

"Where are we going?"

"_We_ are not going anywhere. _I_ am going to see whether I can call in some favors, see if Shawn's bike was reported anywhere since he left or anything. You are going to stay here."

Margaret shook her head. "What am I supposed to do _here_?"

Henry just shrugged and struggled hard to keep the amusement from showing on his face. "I don't know. Man the phones in case Shawn calls. Try to find a hotel. Watch some TV, I don't know. If you're extremely bored, there's some laundry in the dryer that needs ironing. You're old enough, you'll figure something out."

And before Margaret had the chance to reply, Henry was out the door and in his truck.

It was only a ten minute drive to the police station. It was lunchtime by now and the station was unusually quiet. But Henry didn't worry about that. He knew that the person he was looking for mostly ate her lunch in her office, anyway.

Henry didn't bother with extended greetings or small talk as he passed by the desks of cops he knew, and nobody tried to stop him for a chat either. There was a purpose to his steps and visible on his face as he walked up to the Chief's office and knocked.

"Enter!"

Henry entered the office where Karen Vick was seated behind her desk. Henry noticed with a small smile of satisfaction that there was an empty sandwich wrapper lying crumpled on the desk beside her. It seemed her lunch habits hadn't changed over the past years.

Karen smiled up at Henry as he entered, but as he stepped up to the desk he realized that the smile was somewhat forced.

"Henry, that's a surprise. What can I do for you?"

She gestured for Henry to take a seat, which he did. "I'm here to call in a favor."

Karen's smile widened and her eyes sparkled with barely concealed amusement. "I knew that Mr. Guster was both persistent as well as persuasive. But until now, I had no idea just how persistent and persuasive."

"Part of that favor would imply that you do not comment on my motives for being here."

Karen regarded Henry for a long moment, not at all flustered by the sudden sharpness in his tone. She nodded. "All right. I owe you more than just one favor Henry. And you know the limits to which I can go. What do you need?"

"I need to know if Shawn's bike was seen anywhere since he left town. I want to know if he had an accident, if the bike was stolen and turned up in a chop shop, if he was speeding or got a parking ticket."

Karen shook her head. "No trace of his bike anywhere since he left. And though you did ask me not to comment, but if Shawn was in an accident, _you_ would be the first to be notified."

Henry ignored the second half of her sentence completely. "How do you know that his bike didn't show up anywhere? You didn't even turn on your computer."

Karen smiled. "Henry, just because there is nothing we can do to look out for Shawn officially doesn't mean we don't keep our eyes open. I can't put a BOLO out on his bike if he's not a suspect or a material witness, but I can put a tag on his plates so that I get notified if his bike appears anywhere in the system. Give me some credit, I'm not a rookie anymore."

Henry nodded. "All right. I'm also going to need his phone records from the past couple of months."

Karen chuckled.

Henry didn't particularly share her amusement. "What's so funny about that?"

"That it seems you've been beaten to that again. I am actually not supposed to know about it, but I'm sure that if you ask Mr. Guster, you'll find that he already has those."

Henry wordlessly got up from his chair and left Karen's office without another word. It was extremely rude, he knew that, but there was nothing he could possibly say. He should have asked Gus first how far he had already come in his attempt to find Shawn, that could have saved himself a trip. Karen had worked with him long enough to understand that Henry wasn't in the mood to exchange pleasantries, or even a goodbye right now.

Coming here had been a waste of time, and if there was one thing Henry Spencer hated – aside from private detectives and psychics, of course – then it was wasting his time.

So another fifteen minutes later, he parked his truck in front of the Psych office, but he didn't get out immediately.

Gus' car was parked right next to his, so his son's friend was most probably in the office. But actually, Henry had absolutely no desire to have another encounter with Gus while he was in that particular mood. Henry had never before seen Gus lose control like that.

Never.

He had witnessed quite a number of shouting matches and even physical fights between Shawn and Gus over the years, that was true. But Gus was somebody who had always been extremely respectful towards parents and other authority figures, and at times Henry had gotten the feeling that he had also been a little afraid of him.

He had never thought he'd ever see the day that Burton Guster yelled at him.

Somehow, in a strange and twisted way, he was even a little proud of the kid. It must have cost him quite an effort to forget about his ingrained respect and give Henry and Margaret a piece of his mind. And it showed one thing Henry had always been aware of, but occasionally needed to be reminded about – Gus was probably the most loyal friend he had ever seen.

Actually there was no need for Henry to remain sitting in his truck like that. If anything, Gus was the kind of guy you could still talk to, even after a shouting match. But he didn't particularly want to face the awkwardness of that first encounter after Gus had crossed the line.

Not that he expected an apology.

In fact, Henry would be sorely disappointed if Gus started apologizing for speaking his mind.

But in the end, there was only one way to find out. With a sigh, Henry pulled the key from the ignition and got out of the truck. He'd just have to take the bull by its horns and face Gus. After all, Gus had the phone records, and that was why he had come here in the first place.

The office door was unlocked, and when there was no reaction to his knock Henry entered. He found Gus sitting at his desk, back towards the front door, engrossed in a stack of papers in front of him and his laptop beside it. He didn't give any sign of acknowledging Henry's presence as he stepped up to him. Henry paused in the doorway and cleared his throat.

At the sound, Gus put down his pen and turned around. As he recognized who was standing behind him, his eyes widened slightly. Henry could see the indecision on Gus' face. He could literally see the gears in his head shifting as Gus tried to assess the situation, and after a moment he decided to save his son's friend the doubts as to his motives for coming here.

"Hello Gus." Henry tried to keep his voice neutral.

"Mr. Spencer." Gus' voice was hesitant, careful even, as if he was just waiting for the outburst to come. "What are you doing here?"

Henry took a few steps further into the office and sat down in one of the visitor chairs.

"I was trying to get Shawn's phone records. I was told that you already had them."

Gus looked down at the papers on his desk, confirming Henry's suspicion about what he was working on. Twirling the pen in his fingers, Gus slowly looked up at Henry again.

"Why?"

Henry raised both eyebrows. "Why what?"

"Why are you here, Mr. Spencer?"

Henry shrugged. "That's what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted me to help you find Shawn. Now that I come here and offer my help, you're asking me why?"

Gus nodded. "Yes, actually I do. Because forgive me for saying this, but you're not exactly well-known for changing your mind easily."

Henry sighed and turned his head slightly so that he was looking out the window. He had hoped to somehow dodge that particular conversation, but it seemed he was running out of luck in dodging conversations.

"You're not exactly known for yelling at people, either."

"Mr. Spencer, if you're just doing this because of what happened earlier…"

"When you yelled at me, you mean?"

Gus' face set into a determined expression. "I'm not going to apologize for that!"

Henry nearly laughed at the expression on Gus' face. It made him remember Gus as he had been twenty years ago, though defiant words like these would have never left his lips back then.

"And I don't expect you to. But we can either discuss the question why I'm here to death and probably end up having another argument, or you can tell me how far you've gotten with Shawn's phone records by now and we see if we find any trace of him."

Gus opened his mouth to say something else, but Henry cut him off. "Besides, and I emphasize this, thanks to _you_ my ex-wife is currently in my house. Probably she's unpacking that scarily large bag of hers as we speak, because she isn't exactly known for taking subtle hints about her looking for a hotel. So either you let me help you here, or you find Shawn on your own. But if you chose option number two, _you_ are going to explain to Shawn why one of his parents got strangled during his absence and why the other is sitting in jail on murder charges. Are we clear on that?"

Gus stared at Henry for a moment, then he nodded. "All right, Mr. Spencer."

"And finally stop calling me Mr. Spencer. It's Henry."

Gus' eyes widened so much that Henry thought they'd pop out of his head any moment. "Erm…all right Mr. Spenc- I mean, Henry."

Henry didn't say anything, he silently pulled his chair closer to Gus' and cast his eyes to the lists in front of Gus.

"Now, what about those phone records?"

"I've gone through the past three months so far. Shawn actually didn't call anybody after he was brought to the hospital. Well, except for one call to me when he asked me to bring him some clothes to the hospital."

Henry nodded. "We knew that the chances were slim that he called anybody and announced his upcoming visit. Karen told me earlier that his bike hasn't been noticed officially, either. No speeding or parking tickets, nothing. There's really nothing suggesting where he might have gone?"

Gus shrugged. "To be honest, I don't know. I crossed out all the names I knew from the list, and here's what remained." He pointed to a list with names he had compiled. Henry quickly scanned it.

"A lot of girls." Henry mumbled.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. It's not really what it seems, though. I called a few of them earlier. They're not all recent dates. They're not even all dates. But it seems Shawn stayed in contact with quite a number of people he knows from way back."

"But none of these numbers appears more than once."

Gus nodded. "No. It seems that while Shawn stayed in contact with a lot of people, that contact wasn't exactly regular. I haven't gone through the whole six months yet, but aside from the people here in Santa Barbara who have no idea where he is, there is only one person he called more than once during the past couple of months. Actually, he called that number quite regularly every four to six weeks."

Henry squinted as he tried to make out the name on the list without his reading glasses.

"Richard Brows…"

"Brownstein." Gus finished for him.

"It's not a local number."

Gus shook his head. "No, it's a number in San Francisco. Which is actually the only reason why I even realized whose number it is. Shawn told me about his buddy Ricky in San Francisco before."

Henry frowned as he mulled that name over in his head. "I've never heard of him."

Gus just looked at him as if he was silently asking whether that fact really surprised Henry. And honestly, it was strange that it should surprise him. There had been a time when he hadn't talked to Shawn for years, of course he couldn't know all of his son's friends.

"Do you have any idea how they know each other?"

Gus shrugged. "With Shawn, it's a bit hard to keep track. I'm sure Shawn told me, I just don't remember. He met him at some job or other while he was traveling around on his bike, and they stayed in contact. But don't ask me for details."

"How about we just call him and ask?"

Gus sighed. "I already tried that. He doesn't answer his phone. No answering machine."

Henry checked his watch. "He might be at work."

Gus nodded. "I can keep trying to reach him. I doubt that going farther back in the phone records is going to bring up anything new."

Henry nodded. "You do that. I drive up there."

Gus' eyes widened. "To San Francisco? On a whim?"

Henry shrugged. During his time on the force, he probably wouldn't have gone those lengths on a whim, either. Not a four hour car drive to interview somebody who might possibly know something. Just because Shawn had called this Ricky more often than he had called anybody else outside of his close circle of friends didn't mean that he knew anything about Shawn's current whereabouts.

But it was a chance that he did know something, even if it was a long shot. And it definitely beat just sitting around doing nothing. Or even worse, going back to the house and spending the rest of the day with Margaret. He wasn't ready to spend the rest of his days in jail.

"You keep trying to call him. I have my cell phone with me in case you reach him."

Gus just nodded numbly as Henry reached for a pen and wrote down Ricky's name and address. He grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator in the office and went out to his truck. It was half past one in the afternoon. If he pushed his speed just a little above the limit, he might be able to get to San Francisco in under four hours. He just hoped that this Ricky wasn't on vacation. Otherwise he might yet end up shooting somebody today.


	4. Memory Lane, San Francisco

Chapter 4 – Memory Lane, San Francisco, California

**Chapter 4 – ****Memory Lane, San Francisco, California**

In the end, it took Henry a bit more than four hours to make the drive, despite the fact that traffic was unusually light. It took him some more time to find his way around the city, even with the road atlas and city maps he kept in his glove compartment.

But at a few minutes past six Henry finally pulled his car up in front of the right house in a San Francisco suburb. Another car was in the driveway, and Henry's hopes that Shawn's friend Ricky was home by now rose a little.

Henry got out of the truck, locked it up and went up the steps to the front door. As he rang the bell, he asked himself for the first time what he was actually doing here. This was one of the most ludicrous things he had ever done, driving all the way up here on the off-chance that this might provide some more news about Shawn's whereabouts. But then the door opened, and Henry didn't have any more time for second-guessing his motives.

The door was opened by a young man of about Shawn's age, maybe a little older. A few strands of his dark hair were already turning grey, but he wasn't much older than thirty-four, maybe thirty-five. He was still dressed for work, dark pants and a conservative shirt, but the top button was undone and he was holding a discarded tie in his hand. A pair of attentive blue eyes was watching Henry curiously.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Richard Brownstein?"

The man nodded. "Yes, I am. And you are?"

Henry sighed and ran a hand over his short hair. "My name is Henry Spencer. I'm Shawn's father. I'm looking for him and I was hoping you might know where he is."

A grin spread over Ricky's face at those words, and after a moment he chuckled and stepped to the side, opening the door wider. "Come on in."

For a few seconds, Henry thought that maybe it had been that easy. Maybe Shawn was here, and that little tour to San Francisco was all it had taken to find him. But somehow, as soon as he entered the hallway, Henry knew that Shawn wasn't here. The house was too silent. Houses never were silent when Shawn was around. It was just a gut feeling, but Henry had learned to trust those during his time as a cop.

He followed Ricky as the younger man led him through to the kitchen in the back of the house. As they walked through the hallway, Henry couldn't help but notice all the framed pictures on the walls. Some were family pictures, some were group pictures, but most pictures showed the same happy couple in a variety of different settings. The same two people in most of the pictures, neither of which, Henry noticed, was female.

In the kitchen he sat down in the chair Ricky indicated.

"Would you like some coffee? I came home from work a few minutes ago and was just about to make some."

"Sure, thank you."

As Ricky busied himself with making coffee, Henry let his eyes stray around the kitchen. It was a bit smaller than his own kitchen, but comfortable. Modern appliances, and it looked as if it was used regularly. The spice rack was overflowing with small jars and packages, the open shelves were filled with all sorts of cooking ingredients and utensils, and the wooden kitchen table was big enough to seat a number of people for dinner.

A framed copy of some classical painting was hanging on the wall above the table, but Henry didn't know the first thing about art and had no idea what the painting was called, or who had painted it. As Ricky opened the fridge to get out the milk, Henry's eyes fell on the photos pinned to the front of the appliance. Most of them were too far away to make out the details, but amongst them was a larger copy of yet another picture of Ricky and the other man.

Ricky put the coffee down on the kitchen table, his eyes following Henry's to the photo. He sat down in a chair facing the older man, an impish grin on his face. He shrugged.

"Gay man living in San Francisco. I admit it, I'm living a cliché."

Henry answered the shrug with one of his own. "I'm a cop who likes donuts. Tell me about it."

Ricky chuckled. "Shawn was wrong."

"Why's that?"

Ricky poured the coffee and handed Henry one of the mugs. "He always said you had no sense of humor. But you have. A crude sense of humor, admittedly, and a bit rusty, but it's there."

Henry took a sip of the hot coffee and raised his eyebrows in appreciation. It was good.

"You tell Shawn that."

"I would, but we don't really talk that often. And once we do, there's always too much catching up to do." He cocked his head to the side and regarded Henry for a long moment. "So, if you don't mind me asking, how come that you are here?"

Henry put down his cup of coffee and sighed. "I'm looking for Shawn."

"Yes, you said that. What I can't quite figure out is how you managed to find me. Or why you didn't just call, for that matter."

"We did call. You didn't answer."

Ricky rolled his eyes. "Touché. The answering machine is broken, I really need to fix it. But that doesn't explain how you knew to call me, either. Did Shawn actually start keeping an address book?"

Henry shook his head. "No, he didn't. But yours was the only number he called at least semi-regularly over the past months. The only non-local number, that is."

Ricky laughed. "You pulled his phone records? Wow, Shawn is going to have a field day with that. He was always convinced you were controlling him."

Henry shook his head. "Listen Mr. Brownstein…"

Ricky raised his hands defensively. "Ricky. It's Ricky. Being called Mr. Brownstein makes me feel much too old."

Henry sighed. "All right. Listen Ricky, the reason I came here is that Shawn took off three days ago and nobody has any idea where he is. Have you seen him lately?"

Ricky leaned back in his chair and started to push his spoon around the table top with his fingers. Finally, he looked up with a sigh. "Yes. He stood on my doorstep three days ago. Didn't call beforehand, but then again Shawn never does."

Henry's heart sped up a little. So his hunch had been right and he hadn't driven all the way up here in vain. Shawn had been here. Or maybe, just maybe, he was still here. It would be typical for Shawn to be hiding out upstairs, listening in on their conversation. It would be a great source of laughs for his son.

Only when he heard Ricky chuckle did Henry realize that he had raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if staring long enough would make him able to see through it and figure out whether Shawn was still in the house.

"He left this morning." Ricky said. "But feel free to check upstairs if you don't believe me."

Henry shook his head. "No, I don't think there's any need for that. It's just that everybody is quite worried about him."

"Because of what happened before Shawn left Santa Barbara."

Henry looked up with a frown. "He told you what happened?"

Ricky nodded. "I was shocked when I saw his face. He looked as if he had been in one hell of a brawl. Actually, the first thing that slipped out was that I hoped the other guy looked worse. Shawn looked as if I had slapped him. I thought he was either going to puke on my doorstep or turn around and drive away again. So I took him into the house before he could do either. He told me what happened when he and the detective were kidnapped by those jewel thieves. One hell of a story; I couldn't quite believe it at first."

"He also told you about the guy he shot?"

Ricky nodded. "Yeah, he did. That messed him up pretty badly." He looked up. "I guess otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"Shawn has run away before."

Ricky smiled sadly. "Yes, that he has. And back then you didn't come searching for him."

Henry nodded. "No, I didn't."

"So what's different now?"

Henry shrugged. "You said it yourself, this time Shawn killed somebody. It seems that everybody is afraid he won't come back again."

"Everybody. But not you?"

"What do you want me to say? If you're Shawn's friend then you know that we haven't been close for many years. Personally, I don't think running away will help Shawn, no. But he's old enough to try and figure that out on his own."

"Then why are you here?"

"Honestly? Because back home everybody keeps bugging me that it's important to find Shawn. Personally, I think he'll come back sooner or later and pretend that nothing has happened."

Ricky shook his head and refilled their coffee mugs. "And that is where I think you're wrong."

Henry raised both eyebrows. "Oh, really?"

"Really." Ricky thought for a moment, as if contemplating how much to tell Henry and where to start.

"I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated this time."

Henry frowned. "Why's that?"

"Did Shawn tell you how we met?"

Henry shook his head. "Up until today I didn't even know who you are."

"Fair enough. I met Shawn about twelve years ago, I think. He was working as a desk clerk in a hotel in Austin, Texas back then, and I checked in for the night. I was…well, let's just say that I was in a pretty dark place at that time. I had trouble in my job, and I was just coming back from a disastrous visit with my parents. I had been driving around for hours, not really knowing what to do, and actually I was also a little drunk. I checked into the hotel only to empty the mini-bar and knock myself out completely before I drove home the next day."

Henry frowned, not really knowing where this story was going. "And that's where you met Shawn."

Ricky shrugged. "Yeah. A couple of bottles from the mini-bar later, my room started to feel too small, so I went out. I didn't want to go out through the lobby just for some fresh air, so I went up to the roof."

There must have been something in Henry's expression, because Ricky smiled slightly and shook his head.

"I wasn't planning to jump off the roof, Mr. Spencer. I just wanted to get some fresh air and do a little thinking. Well, drunk thinking, but it was thinking all the same. The hotel had one of those flat roofs, and actually the door was supposed to be locked exactly so that nobody could climb up and off themselves. Well, the door wasn't locked, so I sat down at the edge of the roof and let my feet dangle. A few minutes later, Shawn sat down next to me."

He chuckled at the memory. "I was a bit startled because I hadn't seen anybody else on the roof. But Shawn just sat down next to me and told me that he'd appreciate it if I didn't throw myself off the roof that night because it was his turn to clean the parking lot the following day."

Henry had to suppress a chuckle. That sounded like Shawn something Shawn would say.

Ricky continued to talk. "Anyway, I tried to explain that I didn't want to kill myself, and we just got talking. Maybe it was because I was drunk, or maybe it was something about Shawn, but I just started spilling the whole sad story of my life to him. He just listened to my rant, and in the end he merely shrugged and said _'Then change it'_.

"That was all. I keep ranting on about how fucked up my life is, and he tells me to change it. I couldn't believe that guy, really. But he was serious about it. He told me to just make a cut and start new. If my parents didn't want me around, I shouldn't pull myself down by trying to keep up the contact with them. If I hated my job, I should just quit. If I felt too restrained, I should just leave and try to start over new somewhere else. He made it sound as if it was the easiest thing in the world."

"With Shawn, things usually sound that way."

Ricky nodded. "Yeah. But it didn't stop there. The next morning, I woke up late and totally hung over. And when I got down into the lobby, Shawn was back on duty and he shoved a stack of papers at me. Somewhere between dragging my drunk ass down the stairs in the middle of the night and starting his shift early in the morning, he found the time to check the local ads for apartments and jobs. I tried to tell him that I hadn't gone to college for all these years to start working in the local home depot, and I swear I'll never forget the look on his face when I said that. He just looked at me as if I had just grown a second head. And you know what he said next?"

Henry shook his head.

"He said _'But you said you hate your job, and I don't think you went to college to work a job you hate, either.'_ That was it. There I was, getting career tips from a hotel desk clerk who was barely twenty years old, and who behaved as if the world was actually pretty easy to handle if you only knew how. It was highly disconcerting. And I really don't know what I was thinking. Maybe I just did it to prove that cocky guy wrong, I don't know. But I thought why the hell not, things can't get worse than they already are. I quit my job, called a friend to send me some clothes and take care of my affairs back home, and then I got that job at the home depot and rented a crappy one-room apartment somewhere in the outskirts of Austin. It was the craziest thing I've ever done in my entire life, but it turned out to become one of the best summers I ever had. It gave me enough time to figure out what I really want to do with my life."

Henry took another sip of his coffee. As he put his mug down again, he looked at Ricky with a raised eyebrow. "What I don't understand is how all this explains why I am wrong and Shawn won't come back on his own again."

Ricky ran a hand through his hair. "During those four months, me and Shawn hung out a lot. We became friends, and I got to know him very well." He looked up at Henry. "For all his wise-cracking and the wisdom beyond his years he tried to project, it took him a long while to open up about himself. You know, to make him start talking about his own life and how he had ended up at a hotel desk in Austin, Texas. But once he did, it seemed there was no stopping him. He talked about you a lot."

Henry couldn't keep the surprise from showing on his face. "About me?"

"Yes, about you. Whenever I tried to start a conversation about his past, somehow he always ended up talking about you."

Henry nodded knowingly. "Ranting about me, no doubt."

Ricky shrugged. "Most times, yes. But that's not the point. Mr. Spencer, I know all about difficult father-son relationships. My Dad is a high-ranking army officer, and a gay son certainly never was part of his agenda. He let me feel that every time we met, and he said a lot of things to me which no father should ever say to his son. We haven't spoken in over ten years, and I doubt that is going to change ever again. So I know what it's like to say that you hate your own father. And contrary to Shawn, I don't need to keep saying it, as if saying it often enough will make it true."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whenever Shawn was going into another of his rants about – and I quote here –why you were such an unbearable idiot, a failure as a father and nothing more than a spiteful human being who didn't care about a thing but himself, it always sounded like he was trying to convince himself and not me."

Henry couldn't quite follow that line of thought. He knew those rants, he had been on the receiving end of them more often than he cared to remember. But to him, they had always felt like just that – Shawn listing everything he despised about his father. To him, it had always felt real enough.

"So you're saying it all comes back to me? I think you're giving my influence on Shawn's decisions far too much credit."

Ricky shook his head. "No. I think you're underestimating your influence on what Shawn decides to do."

At that, Henry nearly laughed out loud. "Shawn doesn't once consider what I think about the things he's doing, at least not when he's not actively trying to defy me."

Ricky leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his neck. "And that's where we come back to the starting point of this conversation. That's where you're wrong. A huge part of what Shawn does or doesn't do has directly to do with you."

Henry shook his head. "Ricky, you might know Shawn quite well, but I lived with him for…"

"Seventeen years, I know that. But that doesn't mean you understand him. I think that's exactly the problem. Shawn thinks that you never understood him. That's what it all comes back to. See Mr. Spencer, my father never understood who I really was and why I chose to live life the way that I did. He never _wanted_ to understand, and I've finally stopped caring. Shawn can't do that. Shawn wants you to understand who he is. He wants you to understand it and accept him for who he is, and it's frustrating him that all you see is what he _isn't_."

Henry wanted to protest, but found that words were failing him. "I don't think it's your place to tell me about my relationship to my son."

Ricky shook his head. "No, it's probably not my place. But Shawn is my friend, and I don't think I'm going to see you again anytime soon, so I simply take the liberty of being frank with you. Because during the past three days, I could see how much Shawn was hurting. He killed somebody, Mr. Spencer. Shawn ended a life. Shawn. The one person I know who is all about living life to the fullest suddenly finds that he ended a life. That screwed him up pretty badly, and all you were going on about was that things wouldn't be so bad if he only was a cop. He doesn't need those lectures on a normal day, but he certainly didn't need it after what happened on that mountain."

"So you're saying it's my fault that he ran."

"No. I'm saying that you need to see how badly Shawn wants you to finally understand him. You tried to make a cop out of him, but that's simply not who Shawn is. His abilities would make him a great cop, but he'd be unhappy. He isn't you, Mr. Spencer. Over the past two years, Shawn actually thought you were finally getting used to that. But then all this happened. He didn't run away because of you. He ran off because of what happened, because he killed a man and doesn't really know how to deal with it. And I don't really think that he'll be coming back anytime soon."

Seeing the questioning look on Henry's face, Ricky continued with a sigh.

"When I got to know Shawn, he hadn't been home in over a year, but he still referred to Santa Barbara as his home. He always knew he was going to go back one day, but only once he had figured out a lot more about what to do with his life. But this time…Mr. Spencer, it might sound stupid to you, but Shawn found what he wanted to do. Psych is what he wanted to do. It might not be your idea of how somebody, much less your own son, is supposed to work on solving crimes, but it's been Shawn's niche in the world. He was doing something he was good at, and it didn't force him to become somebody he didn't want to be. And now that is tainted. Things got totally out of control, and even you have to admit that it wasn't solely Shawn's fault that this happened. And then Shawn killed somebody. He can't just brush that off.

"So he did what worked for him before. He decides to take a timeout. You call it running away, and probably that's the case. The problem is that I'm afraid no matter where he goes now, he won't get away from what's haunting him. I tried to tell him that when he was here, but Shawn seemed convinced that if he only got far enough away from it all, things would finally go back to normal again."

Ricky sighed and looked at Henry intensely. "But we both know how Shawn's mind works. You of all people should know. He won't be able to forget the moment when he pulled that trigger, no matter where he runs to."

"Then why are you so convinced he's not going to come back?"

"Because for as long as he's not in Santa Barbara, he only needs to make that out with himself. He doesn't need to deal with you being at his case, or with Gus worrying about how he's dealing. He'll still be able to if not forget, then at least pretend that it never happened. I don't know if it would be different if the two of you hadn't had that fight. And it doesn't matter, really. For as long as Shawn doesn't decide to come back, I don't know if you'll be able to find him."

Henry ran a hand over his face. "So you have no idea where he wanted to go to."

Ricky shook his head. "No. I asked him, of course. But I don't think Shawn himself had any idea. He just wanted to get away. And with Shawn, that can mean practically anything."

Henry drank the last of his coffee, his mind busy digesting everything Ricky had told him. It seemed that in the end, his trip to San Francisco had been in vain. Shawn had been here, had been here as recent as this morning, but now he was gone again. With so many hours head start, he could be anywhere by now.

"Will you let me know if you hear from him?"

Ricky nodded and got pen and paper so that Henry could write down his phone numbers.

"I wouldn't count on it, though. Shawn only left here this morning, and he's not exactly known for checking in regularly. But I'll let you know if I hear anything. Just give me a call if you hear something, too."

"Sure." Henry got up from his chair. "Thanks for the coffee, Ricky."

"No problem."

Ricky brought Henry to the door, and when Henry stepped outside he was surprised to see that it was already starting to get dark. He slowly walked over towards his truck and got inside.

So he had found out where Shawn had gone after leaving Santa Barbara. But he hadn't found Shawn. Instead, he had met somebody else who thought that Shawn's disappearance was directly or indirectly tied to him.

But that was ridiculous. He hadn't chased Shawn away. He hadn't stopped him from staying, and he hadn't prevented that Shawn tried to deal with what happened, either. He just hadn't mollycoddled him. Was that a crime now?

And the thought that he didn't want to understand his son, or that he didn't care about his son was utterly ridiculous. He knew perfectly well who his son was. He understood the fact that if given the choice, Shawn's decision for his life would be to never grow up. But that didn't mean he had to accept it, did it? He could understand Shawn and at the same time disagree with the choices he made. That was no contradiction, that was what being a parent was all about.

He was torn out of his musings by the sound of his cell phone ringing. Quickly, Henry pulled it out of his pocket and answered.

"Hello?"

"Henry, where in the name of all that's good are you? You just up and left without a word, and that was hours ago!"

Henry rolled his eyes and let his head drop back against the headrest. "Margaret, where did you get my cell phone number?"

Margaret's voice didn't sound as if she had even heard the warning tone in her ex-husband's words. "They usually print the phone number onto the contract, Henry."

"You went through my papers?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You went through my desk?"

"You didn't really leave me another choice, did you?"

"You could have called Gus, for crying out loud!"

Margaret huffed. "You left me sitting there, not knowing what I was supposed to do. Don't drag Gus into it. And I think you'll survive the fact that I searched through your electricity bills and bank statements in search for your cell phone contract. And now tell me where you've been all day."

Normally, Henry would not have responded to such a tone at all. But he was too tired to start an argument now.

"I'm in San Francisco. I'll be home in a couple of hours, I'll tell you everything then."

"Did you find him?"

Henry sighed. "Margaret, don't you think that if I had found Shawn, that would have been the first words out of my mouth?"

He hung up on her without waiting for an answer. Let her stew on that for a while, he was used to that. She'd yell at him as soon as he came home, anyway, for once he could give her at least something akin to a reason for it.

Just as Henry reached out for the key and was about to turn it in the ignition, his cell phone rang again. With a groan, he let go of the key and reached for the phone. If that was Margaret again, and if she was only calling to make a scene because he had hung up on her, Henry might just consider that jail time ahead of him, just for the pleasure of strangling her.

He flipped the phone open and brought it up to his ear.

"Hello?"

But it wasn't Margaret's voice who answered.

"Am I speaking to Mr. Henry Spencer?"

"Yes, that's me. Who am I talking to?"

"My name is Cynthia Briggs, with the Fresno Community Medical Center."

Henry's heart started to beat fast in his chest and his throat suddenly felt dry.

"What is this about?"

"I'm calling on behalf of one of our patients, a Mr. Shawn Spencer. You're on his emergency call list."

Henry jammed the phone between ear and shoulder and started the car.


	5. I'm sorry, what did you say?

Chapter 5 – I'm sorry, what did you say

**Chapter 5 – I'm sorry, what did you say?**

Henry swerved the truck onto the road with screeching tires.

"I'm his father, what happened?"

Cynthia Briggs, the woman from the Fresno Community Medical Center, cleared her throat. "Mr. Shawn Spencer was admitted to the hospital this afternoon."

Henry could have figured that one out on his own. "What happened?" He repeated, all the patience gone from his voice.

"He was involved in a motorcycle accident."

Of course. The motorcycle. The blasted motorcycle! Henry should have known.

"How badly is he hurt?"

"Sir, I cannot disclose that kind of information over the phone…"

"Dammit, I want to know how bad my son's injuries are!"

Henry heard the woman draw in a sharp breath, but right now he didn't care. He wanted to know what was wrong with Shawn, and he didn't care whose toes he had to step on to get that information.

"Sir, I am not privy to that information. My job is solely to inform family members. Even if it was our policy to disclose that kind of information over the phone, I wouldn't know what to tell you."

Henry drew a deep breath to stop himself from yelling.

"So you're saying that you can't even tell me if my son is about to die right now or if he only broke his finger? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"I'm sorry sir, but I am sure that if you come to the hospital, his attending doctor will be able to explain your son's condition in detail."

"I'll be there in two hours."

Henry hung up without waiting for an answer. He checked the street signs for a moment to get on the right lane that would take him to the highway, then he put his foot on the accelerator and blindly dialed his home phone number on his cell phone.

The phone rang four times, then there was a click in the line and his answering machine started to play the message. Why didn't Margaret answer the phone? She had been home only a few minutes ago, and she wasn't the type of person to not answer somebody else's phone for stupid privacy reasons. Henry impatiently waited for the short message to end. If Margaret wasn't picking up the phone because she was sulking, there'd be hell to pay.

Finally, there was a beep in the line. "Margaret, it's me. Pick up the damn phone!"

There was another click in the line as Margaret picked up the phone. "Oh, so now you want to talk to me? First you hang up in the middle of a conversation, and then you call me again five minutes later…"

"Shut up, Meg!"

From one moment to the next, the line went silent. Henry didn't know whether it was the use of her nickname which he hadn't used in fifteen years or whether it was something in his voice, but he didn't care. For the moment, she was silent. That was all he had wanted.

"I just got a call. Shawn is in the hospital."

Margaret drew in a sharp breath, much like that woman form the hospital a few moments ago. "What? Where? What happened?"

"Fresno Community Medical Center. He got into an accident with his bike."

"How is he? Is he badly hurt?" All the aggression had gone out of Margaret's voice from one moment to the next.

"I don't know. They didn't tell me over the phone; that woman I talked to didn't even know. I'm driving there right now."

"I'm coming, too."

There was a note of protest in her voice, just as if Henry had been about to forbid her to come. Henry drove the car up to the highway and accelerated further. "I'm not telling you to stay at home. Call Gus, tell him what happened. Have him fetch you at the house and come to Fresno. Do you have Gus' number?"

"Yes, yes I have his number."

"All right. Call him, tell him what happened. We'll meet at the hospital."

"Okay." Henry could hear the quiver in Margaret's voice. At times, especially after all these years, it was easy to forget that despite whatever might have happened between them as their marriage ended, Shawn was their child. Margaret worried about him just as much as Henry did.

"Meg." He tried to force all the gruffness out of his voice.

"Yes?"  
"He'll be okay."

There was a slight pause, an intake of breath as if Margaret wanted to respond something to that, but she didn't say anything. Which was good, because Henry had said that last sentence with a confidence he didn't really feel. He heard the sound of her shoes on the floorboards as she was walking around. "I'm going to call Gus now. I'll see you at the hospital."

"Bye."

Henry snapped the phone shut and tossed it onto the passenger seat. He was long past the point where he cared about the speed limit. The only thing that was holding him back was the maximum speed his truck was capable of going. And right now, that wasn't fast enough.

And the longer it took him to get to Fresno, the more time he had to imagine all kinds of gruesome scenarios about what might have happened to Shawn.

Of course it had been the bike.

It always was the bike.

This wasn't the first time Henry had received a call from the hospital because Shawn had crashed his bike. The previous call had come from Santa Barbara, and it had come in the middle of the night, but those were the only differences. He had felt the same sinking sensation in his stomach back then, on his way to the hospital when he hadn't known any details about his son's condition yet.

The last time Henry had received such a call, Shawn had nearly died.

Henry forced the thought away.

Probably it was nothing.

Probably, the call had been standard procedure, and Shawn wasn't hurt badly. Maybe he had dislocated his shoulder again, or something equally non-life threatening had happened.

He only needed to focus on the thought that Shawn wasn't hurt. He needed to focus on that, and on the fact that he hated the bike. As soon as this was over, Shawn would never ever even get near a motorcycle again. And Henry didn't care whether his son was thirty or not. Once this was over, Shawn wouldn't get within ten feet of a motorcycle. Even if Henry had to chain him up somewhere, this was not up for discussion.

The drive to Fresno took endless, no matter how much Henry pushed the engine of his truck. He was lucky that he didn't get stopped for speeding, but in his current state of mind Henry doubted that even a police car with flashing lights and sirens could have stopped him.

It took a bit more than two hours until Henry reached Fresno, and another fifteen minutes until he had found the hospital, had his truck parked and was on his way into the building.

As soon as the door opened, he heard a well-known sound. Margaret was yelling at somebody. He wondered how fast Gus must have driven to get here so quickly, but he guessed with Margaret in the car, his son's friend hadn't exactly had a choice about which speed to go. It wasn't Henry Margaret was yelling at this time, which was definitely a bonus, and it spared him the need to ask for directions. He simply had to follow her voice. Besides, whoever was on the receiving end of his wife's yelling probably deserved it.

Henry found Margaret and a very pale looking Gus in front of a nurse at the information desk. Margaret was yelling and pointing at the woman, barely giving her enough time to get a word in between her sentences. Henry hurried up to them.

"Any news? How is Shawn?"

The nurse turned towards Henry. "You belong together?"

"Yes, we're both here for my son. How…"

"Sir, would you please tell your wife that she needs to calm down? Yelling at me won't change anything."

Henry shook his head, not even bothering to update the nurse on his and Margaret's marital status. "No, I won't tell her to calm down. In fact, I think I'll start yelling at you too if you don't tell me immediately what condition my son is in. That woman who called me already didn't know anything. So now you either tell me what happened to my son, or I'm going to show you what _real_ yelling sounds like."

The nurse rolled her eyes. "I don't have any more information than I already gave your wife, sir. Your son was involved in a motorcycle accident this afternoon. He was brought to the hospital, and I have his condition listed as stable. He didn't require surgery, but he is still undergoing further examination. Now would you please sit down, _all_ of you, and I'm gong to notify your son's attending doctor that you're here. He'll be down in a few minutes."

The nurse picked up the phone and gestured towards a group of chairs in the waiting area. Gus immediately turned and sat, but it was obvious that Margaret wasn't ready or willing to back down. Henry put a hand on her arm and squeezed gently. Slowly, Margaret turned her head towards her ex-husband.

"Come on, let's wait for the doctor."

Margaret looked at Henry for a moment, as if she was contemplating whether or not to disagree, but finally she nodded and allowed Henry to steer her over towards the chairs in the corner. However, she didn't sit down but crossed her arms in front of her chest and started tapping her foot against the linoleum floor impatiently.

Henry knew better than to say anything else to her while she was in that mood, so he turned towards Gus. Despite his naturally dark skin, the younger man looked distinctly pale.

"Are you all right? You look as if you're about to keel over."

Gus looked up and pointed a slightly shaking finger at Margaret. "She drove here. She insisted."

Henry put a hand on Gus' shoulder and squeezed wordlessly. That of course explained a lot. Margaret's driving style had always been a little hazardous, Henry didn't even want to know what the drive up here must have been like with her in a worried frenzy.

He was spared the need to say anything else to Gus when a doctor entered the waiting room and followed the nurse's outstretched finger over towards where Henry, Margaret and Gus were waiting. Gus got up from the chair, though he still looked slightly shaky.

"You're the family of Shawn Spencer?"

"How is my son?" Henry didn't want to exchange any pleasantries, he didn't want to waste any time on further introductions, he just wanted to finally know how badly Shawn was hurt.

The doctor, a man of about Henry's age with short grey hair and a pair of glasses perched on the tip of his nose, turned towards Henry with a small smile.

"Physically, Shawn is in no immediate danger. He's resting right now. You can see him in a few minutes, but there are a few things I'd like to talk to you about first. If you'd follow me to my office?"

Henry drew a deep breath. It wasn't as if they had any other choice right now. They wouldn't get to see Shawn before that doctor had said whatever it was he thought he needed to say, and he had already turned around and was walking towards a corridor to their right. There was no chance but to follow him.

A few minutes later the doctor led them into an office and closed the door behind them. He gestured towards the chairs in front of his desk.

"Please, take a seat."

They did, and the doctor walked around the desk and sat down in his own chair behind it.

"I'm assuming you are Shawn's parents?" He looked from Henry to Margaret, who both nodded silently. The doctor's eyes settled on Gus for a moment, but then went back to Henry and Margaret without further question.

"I'm Dr. Philip Walters, I'm the Chief Neurologist here at the Fresno Community Medical Center. I've been treating Shawn after he was brought here."

A heavy leaden weight settled in Henry's stomach.

Chief Neurologist.

That meant head injury.

Brain damage.

Oh God.

"Shawn has a head injury?"

Dr. Walters shook his head. "I'm afraid it's a little more complicated, Mr. Spencer. Let me run you through what happened. Shawn was brought to the hospital a few minutes past four this afternoon. According to the reports, he was involved in a motorcycle accident on the highway. He was cut off by another driver, and lost control of his bike as he swerved to avoid a collision. Considering the speed he was going, his injuries are light, and first aid was administered immediately by other drivers who stopped when they saw the accident happen. When Shawn was brought here, he was treated for a broken ulna in his left arm and bruised ribs on his left side. We did X-rays but didn't find any other broken bones or severe injuries. Shawn was very lucky. He was wearing appropriate clothing for riding on a motorcycle, so he didn't aggravate his injuries any further as he slid along the road after the collision."

Henry had heard enough blabbering, he finally wanted some answers.

"When exactly are you getting to the point why a neurologist is treating my son if he was so lucky and only broke his left arm and bruised his ribs?"

Dr. Walters nodded. "Of course. I just wanted to assure you that Shawn's physical condition is stable and he didn't suffer any severe injuries. The broken arm is set and should heal fine on its own, given a few weeks. The reason why I was called in on your son's treatment is another."

He pulled over a file and opened it, as if he needed to assure himself of his diagnosis. "Shawn was wearing a helmet, but with motorcycle accidents we're always worried about head trauma. Your son was unconscious at the scene of the accident, but he regained consciousness during treatment in the ER. I was called in because he displayed signs of disorientation and agitation that went beyond the levels normally associated with his injuries."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Henry heard how Margaret's voice was shaking slightly, and he put a hand on her arm in silent consolation. He was surprised when she reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly, but he didn't let go.

Walters continued. "Shawn was diagnosed with a concussion. That's something not even the best helmets can avoid. It is also perfectly normal for an accident victim to wake up disoriented and unable to recall the actual even that brought them to the hospital. In fact, most accident victims end up unable to recall the minutes leading up to the accident as such, it's a perfectly normal reaction to a head trauma."

Henry shook his head. "Doctor. What is wrong with my son?"  
His voice was very tight and it was obvious that he was clinging to control by a straw. Walters looked at him for a moment, then he sighed.

"All right. When Shawn regained consciousness, the attending doctors asked him a couple of questions to assess his degree of awareness and the possibility of head trauma. Shawn was able to answer what year it is, who our president is and who won the Super Bowl last year. The problem is that he was unable to supply any kind of personal information."

Henry felt Margaret's grip on his hand tighten. His own heart started beating faster in his chest.

"Are you trying to tell me that he doesn't remember?"

Dr. Walters nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid I am. When he was asked for his name, Shawn couldn't answer the question. He got very agitated about not being able to answer that question. When I was called in on your son's case, it took us a lot of time to calm him down again. We did a CAT-scan to make sure that the head injury wasn't more serious than we thought, but that isn't the problem. Shawn is suffering from what we call retrograde amnesia. It is not an uncommon occurrence after a head trauma."

"You're trying to tell me that it's perfectly normal that my son doesn't remember his own name?"

"What I'm trying to tell you Mr. Spencer, is that it's not unusual for something like this to happen after a head injury. Admittedly, in most cases that memory loss only affects a certain timeframe, a few minutes or hours before the head trauma occurred. But occasionally, it does happen that the memory loss is broader. It is a bit unusual that Shawn seems unable to recall anything at the moment, and that's for one reason. In most cases, the severity of the amnesia is directly connected to the severity of the head trauma that caused it. And in this case, the head trauma isn't really severe. We have requested Shawn's most recent medical files, but maybe you can help me out until they arrive. Did he suffer from any head injuries lately?"

Henry nodded. "He had another concussion not quite three weeks ago. The doctors said it was a mild concussion, though."

Dr. Walters looked down at the file in front of him in deliberation. "That could be a factor."

Margaret let go of Henry's hand and sat up straighter in her chair. "So what you're saying is that basically, Shawn doesn't remember anything and you don't have a clue as to why that is?"

Dr. Walters nodded. "It is difficult to grasp, I understand that. And I know that it sounds bad, but I can give you a little reassurance there. Retrograde amnesia is not a permanent condition."

"So how long is it going to take for him to get his memory back?"

"There is no way to tell, Mrs. Spencer. It might last a few hours, maybe a few days. It probably won't come back all at once, in most cases the memories start coming back slowly. We tried jogging Shawn's memory after he was brought to his room. We gave him a mirror and showed him his driver's license, but he didn't show any sign of recognition. Maybe seeing you will be enough to jog his memory. It often happens that meeting family members starts triggering the memories."

Henry made move to get up from his chair. "Then what are we waiting for? I want to see my son."

Dr. Waters gestured for Henry to sit back down.

"Just a moment longer, Mr. Spencer. I said seeing you _might_ trigger Shawn's memory. But I need to prepare you for the fact that it won't. If that is the case, I want you to keep in mind that at the moment, Shawn is extremely upset and confused. Not being able to remember who you are is a highly disconcerting feeling. It is hard for family members, but if Shawn doesn't remember you, it will be for him as if he was meeting you for the first time. If that is the case, open displays of affection will only serve to confuse Shawn further." He looked at Margaret. "I know that it's hard, especially for a mother, but if Shawn doesn't remember you, you need to give him some space. His memory will come back eventually, but until it does you need to let him go at his own pace. Talk to him, tell him more about his life, and if he has any questions answer them truthfully. Eventually he will remember, so not telling him the truth about something won't help any, either."

Henry leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face in frustration. "Can we see him now?"

Dr. Walters nodded and got up from his chair. "Yes. We'll see how the meeting goes, then we can talk about Shawn's further treatment later. We'd like to keep him over night for observation, but from his physical condition nothing speaks against releasing him tomorrow morning."

He led the way to the door and they followed him down the corridor towards the elevators. On the third floor they got off and Dr. Walters wordlessly led them down another corridor. He stopped in front of room 329.

"Here we are. I'm going to tell Shawn that you are here."

He knocked on the door and opened it after a second. From his position in the corridor, Henry could only see the foot end of Shawn's bed as Dr. Walters stepped a little further into the room.

"Shawn? You have visitors."

There was no answer, but Walters turned back towards the corridor and gestured for them to come into the room.

"He's awake. Just keep in mind what I told you. Don't pressure him, let him take this at his own pace."

Henry was only half-listening as he stepped into the hospital room, Margaret and Gus following directly behind him.

Shawn was lying on the bed, the sheet drawn up to his chest. His left arm was in a cast up to his elbow and he looked pale, but other than that he didn't look badly hurt. Of course Dr. Walters had told them that his physical injuries weren't that bad, but Henry only believed that now that he was seeing it with his own eyes.

He hadn't seen Shawn in over two weeks now. In fact, the last time he had seen his son had been the day when he had stormed out of the hospital, and compared to that Shawn even looked slightly better now. He was still too pale and looked rattled, but the scratches on his face had partly healed off already.

Shawn's eyes were following them as they stepped into the room, and Henry was carefully watching his son, searching for any sign of recognition.

He didn't find any.

Shawn's eyes were slightly wider than usual, and he was looking from Henry to Margaret, to Gus and back again, until they finally settled on Dr. Walters.

"It's all right Shawn." The doctor took a step into the room. "We talked about how your memory might come back. It's no problem if you don't immediately recognize people. This is your family. Just talk to them for a few minutes, ask any questions you like. And if it doesn't immediately trigger any memories, there's no need to worry. Just give yourself some time. I need to see to another patient, but I'll come back later on. If you need anything, just call a nurse."

Shawn nodded hesitantly as Dr. Walters said his goodbyes to Henry and the others. He left the room, and Henry had to fight hard so that he didn't flinch as the doctor closed the door behind him.

He had no idea how to deal with this.

This was his son lying in the hospital bed. That as such was a situation Henry had been in a number of times before. He was no stranger to seeing his son in hospital.

But Shawn was looking at them without any sign of recognition on his face, and _that_ Henry felt totally incapable of dealing with.

What was he supposed to say now? _I am your father, Shawn?_ This wasn't Star Wars, for crying out loud!

Surprisingly, it was Shawn who finally broke the awkward silence.

"Erm…I guess the doctor told you what happened. I don't really remember much right now." Shawn raised a hand and ran it through his hair. "I'm sorry."

Henry couldn't remember the last time he had heard Shawn sound this uncertain of himself. Let alone the last time he had heard his son apologize. It was a disconcerting feeling.

"Hey, you don't have to be sorry for anything." Margaret took a step towards the bed and Henry prepared himself to hold her back from hugging Shawn. He wasn't so sure whether his ex-wife had really listened to what Dr. Walters had been saying earlier. But Margaret merely stepped up to Shawn's bedside with a smile.

"It's not your fault Shawn. And the doctor said your memory will come back in time. Don't pressure yourself."

Shawn sighed. "Yeah, that's what the doctor said." He fingered his cast for a moment, as if the skin beneath was itching. It took a few seconds until he looked up again.

"So…you're my family?"

This time, Henry did flinch. God, this was awkward. Shawn didn't know who they were. His parents and his lifelong best friend, and he didn't have a clue who they were. How was he supposed to deal with that? What was he supposed to say? If he was even able to bring out more than a hoarse croak right now, which Henry seriously doubted.

But fortunately, Margaret didn't seem to suffer from the same problems.

She smiled and shook her head apologetically. "Sorry Shawn, I should have thought of that sooner. Yes, we're your family. I'm Margaret, your Mom. And this is your Dad Henry."

Before Margaret could say anything else, Shawn raised his uninjured hand and gestured for her to stop. He looked towards Gus.

"If you're going to tell me that he's my brother, I think the four of us should have a long talk soon."

Henry couldn't believe he was hearing this. He couldn't believe it. Neither could Gus, by the expression on his face. His son's friend looked as if he didn't know whether to laugh or not. Shawn had no idea who he was, or who they were, but he was joking? This had to be some kind of weird dream, this couldn't be real.

After a second or two, Gus shook his head with a slight laugh.

"It's good to see that not even a blow to the head can dislodge your sense of humor, Shawn. I'm Gus. I'm your best friend."

"Gus?" Shawn raised both eyebrows.

"Actually, my name is Burton."

"Oh. That explains a lot." Shawn sank back further into his pillows and let his gaze flicker over his three visitors. Henry noticed that he didn't really make eye-contact with either of them.

"It's strange, not knowing your own family. It feels like I should remember, like it's on the tip of my tongue. But I just can't remember, I'm sorry."

"It'll come back in time."

Margaret pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. Henry saw Gus do the same on the other side of the bed and knew that they expected him to do the same, but he couldn't. He didn't want to. He wanted to just turn around and leave the room, and he didn't want to come back until things were back to normal.

That wasn't his son on the bed. This was somebody who looked like his son and who sounded like his son, but it just wasn't the same. Often enough, Henry found it difficult to deal with Shawn when he was himself. But this was a whole new level of difficult. The Shawn he knew didn't act like that, all timid and even afraid. He didn't avoid eye contact, and he damn well didn't apologize for something he wasn't at fault for. Hell, Shawn hardly ever apologized at all, even if he was at fault.

Henry ran a hand over his head and drew a deep breath. The hospital room seemed too small and stuffy all of a sudden, as if there was not enough air to breathe in here for four people at once. Henry couldn't just sit down beside Shawn's bed and pretend that nothing had happened. And he couldn't sit down and start telling his son the basic facts of his life, either. He just couldn't. What was he supposed to say?

I'm your father, and we don't really get along with each other most of the time? Actually, the last time we've seen each other we had a fight and I stormed off? But don't worry, you'll remember that in time?

Henry couldn't do this.

He just couldn't.

He mumbled something from between clenched teeth that was meant to be an apology but wasn't really understandable, then he turned around and left the room.


	6. Let's just start at the beginning

**Chapter 6 – Let's just start at the beginning**

Henry didn't look where he was going. He didn't care, either. All he cared about was that he needed to get away from that room. He needed fresh air, and he needed it quickly.

Waiting for the elevator was out of the question, he hurried down the stairs and crossed the lobby as fast as he could without actually running. His vision was limited so that he saw nothing but the front door of the hospital, the sliding glass doors behind which the air wouldn't be as stuffy anymore and he might finally be able to think clearly again.

Once outside, Henry just stood and breathed for a long moment, unable to do anything else. His heartbeat slowed only gradually and his head began to clear ever so slightly.

He already knew that it had been a stupid thing to do. He was running away. Henry nearly laughed out loud at the irony of that. Just a day or so ago he had been angry with Shawn for simply running away, and now he was doing the same thing.

Storming out of Shawn's hospital room would get him nowhere. He knew that. And he knew that with Shawn in the condition he was in, it might even do more harm than good.

But Henry simply had been unable to do anything else.

This was an obscene situation. How was he supposed to face his son who didn't even remember him? What was he supposed to say or do? Nothing he could say would help Shawn getting his memory back, and he simply wasn't the person for useless platitudes. He just wasn't the right person for all that _Daddy's here, everything is going to be all right_-crap.

Shawn knew that.

Well, he didn't know it right now, but as soon as his memory came back he'd understand. He'd have to.

Margaret would probably tear his head off for storming out like that, Henry knew. He also knew that it wasn't helping Shawn's current condition, either.

The kid was probably confused enough without having his father wordlessly storm out of the hospital room.

Welcome to the club, buddy.

Henry was confused enough on his own.

Slowly, he walked away from the hospital entrance towards a nearby bench. He sat down heavily and buried his face into his hands. Sooner or later he'd have to go back inside, he knew that. He'd take the later rather than the sooner, thank you very much.

It was already dark outside, and when Henry checked his watch he wasn't really surprised to find that it was nearly half past nine already. At least there was one good thing about this day – it was nearly over.

Henry sat silently for a few minutes with his head buried in his hands, staring down at the uneven pavement beneath him. He didn't look up as steps approached the bench from the direction of the hospital. Either whoever was coming there would pass him, or it was Margaret and he was in for it now. He didn't particularly care.

The steps stopped beside him and a moment later somebody sat down on the bench beside him. Henry only saw the shoes, but that was more than enough for him to recognize that it was indeed Margaret.

"Shawn is asleep now."

Henry nodded and slowly raised his head. "That's good."  
"The day really took it out of him. One moment he seemed awake, the next his eyes were dropping close."

Henry nodded again, but didn't say anything. Shawn had fallen asleep, what was there to say about? He had fallen asleep thousands of times in his life, the novelty of that event had worn off about three weeks after his birth.

After a moment, Margaret sighed. "Henry, this is hard enough for Shawn already. He was pretty confused when you stormed out like that."

Henry ran a hand over his face. This was it, now the lecture was about to start.

"I just couldn't stay in there for any longer, Margaret."

"I wasn't comfortable with the situation either. Nor was Gus. But we sucked it up, because all this is a lot harder for Shawn than it is for either of us."

"Just get it off your chest, all right? Yes, you are all dealing with this so much better than I am. Shawn is disturbed, and it's my fault. Just as it was my fault that he ran away in the first place. That's what you want to say, isn't it?"

He got off the bench and started pacing up and down in front of it. Margaret sighed and watched him pace for a few moments.

"I didn't come out here to yell at you."

"Now that would be a first."

"Henry, this isn't about us. We both know that we can't hold a conversation for long without getting into a fight. That's why we got a divorce. Right now we need to worry about Shawn, and it won't help him if we start tearing each other's hair out."

Henry stopped his pacing and looked down at his ex-wife. "I just can't do this, Margaret. On a good day, Shawn and I don't end up getting into a fight. The last time we spoke before all this, it ended up in a shouting match despite the fact that he was already lying in hospital. He might not remember that now, but he will once his memory comes back. What am I supposed to tell him when he asks me questions?"

Margaret shrugged. "The truth, Henry."

"That's easy for you to say. So if he asks me _Well Dad, how do we get along?_ I'm supposed to say _Not well, really. Most days we can be glad not to end up fighting, but I'm here for you now?_ How's that for confusing the kid even further."

Margaret sighed and got up from the bench. "I can't tell you what you're supposed to do. I don't know what to do myself. But you can't just avoid Shawn. That won't help anybody."

"Don't you think I know that?"

Henry couldn't stop his voice from rising, but as he realized it he brought his hands up against his head in frustration.

"I know that, Margaret."

Margaret stepped over towards him and put a hand against his arm with a sad smile.

"For tonight, Shawn is asleep. I suggest we pry Gus away from the coffee machine inside, get in the car and try to find a Motel for tonight. Shawn will probably be released tomorrow, we'll see what we'll do then."

Slowly, Henry nodded. It didn't help the situation any, he knew that. But sleep sounded quite appealing right now.

"You go and get Gus. I need to call Karen. They're keeping their eyes out for news about Shawn, it's best to let her know that she can stop looking. And I promised Ricky that I'd call him as soon as I heard anything."

Margaret frowned. "Who is Ricky?"

"A friend in San Francisco. Shawn has been staying with him for the past couple of days."

Margaret nodded. "All right, I'll go get Gus."

She turned and walked back into the hospital. Henry drew a long, deep breath, then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Karen's number at the police station.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Shawn Spencer.

Shawn Henry Spencer.

According to his driver's license, that was his name.

Shawn Henry Spencer.

He should be able to recognize it, shouldn't he? It was his own name, for crying out loud. He was thirty years old – again, according to his driver's license – so he should be able to recognize a name he had gone by for thirty frigging years!

He should recognize it.

But he didn't.

It was the world's most simple question.

_What's your name?_

But it seemed that the world had stopped spinning since he had been asked that question in the Emergency Room the previous day.

He had woken up in a daze, not knowing where he was or what had happened, surrounded by strangers who were poking and prodding him, talking about him but not with him. Some distant synapse in his brain had supplied the word hospital, which had helped put things into context. That, and the pain.

And then they had realized that he was awake.

_Sir, it's all right. You were in an accident, but you're in the hospital now._

He hadn't been able to remember any accident, but considering that he was in pain he took the words of the man in blue scrubs for granted.

_Do you know where you are?_

Not really. In a hospital, the guy himself had just said that, hadn't he? So that had been his mumbled answer.

_Do you know what year it is?_

What was this, Twenty Questions? 2008, but that was just assuming he hadn't been unconscious for a very long time.

_What's the name of our President?_

Sorry Regis, no need to Ask the Audience on this one. George W. Bush. Do I get the 64.000 now?

_What's your name?_

And that had been it. The world's easiest question, one he didn't even need to think about. It was just his name, after all, and it was so much easier to supply that answer than to get his timeline and knowledge about American Presidents right.

He had drawn in a breath to answer, but his mind came up with a blank.

Which was simply ridiculous.

Of course he had a name, and of course he knew it.

How could he not know it?

How could he know who George W. Bush was and not even remember his own name?

The doctor above him had watched him for a few seconds, waiting for an answer.

But he had been completely and utterly unable to give one.

Finally, he had had to release the breath he had drawn again without speaking a word. This just couldn't be.

_Sir, can you tell me your name?_

Of course I can tell you my frigging name, just as soon as I remember it.

Something had started beeping then, somewhere in the background, but he had barely noticed it. He had barely noticed anything aside from the fact that he couldn't remember his own name, and that meant that something was seriously wrong with him.

_Sir, you have to calm down._

No way. He wasn't going to calm down until he remembered his name!

_Get Dr. Walters down here. As soon as the arm is set, I want a CAT-scan. We need to make sure that the head injury isn't worse than we thought._

Head injury. Now that was nice. Maybe he had hurt his head exactly in the spot that was responsible for remembering his own name. Maybe he'd be able to figure out something else. Where did he come from? When was his birthday? What was his job? Did he have a girlfriend? Wife? Kids?

He drew a blank on all of these questions, and slowly he was getting scared. This wasn't normal. This wasn't supposed to happen! If anything, he should know his own name but have no clue as to who the President was.

_Easy. Take it easy. Another question, all right? Who won the Super Bowl last year?_

What kind of a question was that? The Indianapolis Colts, but that wouldn't help him remember his name, either! And compared to the fact that he couldn't remember his own name, it was of absolutely no importance who had won the damn Super Bowl!

What had followed had been another blur of people talking, prodding him, examining him, telling him to calm down. Yeah, I'd like to see you calm down if you can't remember your own name!

Finally, after an eternity of examinations, he had been brought to a room where an elderly doctor with a pair of glasses perched on the tip of his nose had sat down to talk to him. Dr. Walters, that was how he had introduced himself. Obviously, everybody else was able to remember their name just fine, but not him.

Dr. Walters had explained that sometimes something like this could happen after a head injury. Well, it didn't make the whole damn thing less scary. Good news was that his memory was supposed to come back soon.

Just great. How soon is soon?

_Do you remember anything at all about yourself?_

No, but thanks for asking. He had wanted to yell at the man to finally find out at least his frigging name, maybe then the memory would come back, but it seemed the doctor had come prepared. He had pulled out a mirror and had given it to him. And he had given him his driver's license.

That's how he knew his name.

Shawn Henry Spencer.

But how could that be his name if it didn't feel like his name? Hearing it brought back no memories, nothing at all. But it was him on that driver's license, that he couldn't deny.

Until he had been given that mirror, he had not even been aware that he had no idea what he looked like. Which was even more disconcerting than not being able to remember his name.

But the picture was him, that was a definite. The same hair, the same eyes. The stranger's face that was staring back at him from the mirror in his hand had more stubble covering his cheeks and chin, and the left side of his face was scratched rather badly, but it was definitely him in that photograph.

He was Shawn Henry Spencer.

Dr. Walters had smiled gently as he had taken the mirror out of his hand and had put it on his bedside table.

They had called his family, he had told him. There had been an emergency call list in his wallet, and no doubt his family would be here soon. Somebody named Henry Spencer had been on top of that list, did he remember that name?

No, he didn't. But seeing that he was called Shawn Henry Spencer, he could venture a guess that this guy was related to him. Probably his father, if his middle name was anything to go by. It took simple deductive logic to figure that out. Didn't substitute for a memory, though.

His prognosis was good, Dr. Walters said. No physical injuries aside from some bruised ribs and the broken arm. He probably could be released tomorrow.

Well, wasn't that great. Just release me into the world even though I have no frigging idea who I am or where I live. That sounds like a plan.

But then again, Dr. Walters was probably relying on that Henry Spencer person to take care of him after he was released. Shawn didn't know why, but the thought of depending on a stranger appealed to him even less than the thought of being in hospital in the first place.

And then there had been those constant reassurances. His memory would come back, he didn't need to worry. This wasn't a movie, retrograde amnesia was no lasting condition. Over the next hours or maybe days, he'd start getting his memory back. Slowly, probably in single flashes, but after a while he'd have the complete picture.

Yeah right, he didn't see any of that happening yet.

The main thing according to Dr. Walters was not to pressure himself.

Good plan, doc. Easy as pie. I'll just stay calm even though I have absolutely no idea who I am.

It might be possible that his memory started coming back when his family arrived, but if he didn't recognize them at first, that still was no reason to worry.

At that, he had nearly laughed out loud. He already had plenty of reasons to worry, thanks a lot for asking; he doubted that he'd even notice any additional points on that list.

Good advice was all Dr. Walters had been able to give him. Don't pressure yourself. Don't try to force the memories to come back. Once your family is here, ask them any questions you like. Start piecing it all together, the memories will come back in time to fill in the blanks.

And then Dr. Walters had led his family into the room. His heart had been beating fast in his throat as they had filed into the room. White guy, fifty-ish. White woman, also fifty-ish. Black guy of about his own age. Now that was going to be interesting.

Obviously they had been told about his loss of memory, because they were all staring at him as if they were just expecting him to jump up and yell "I remember now!" But he didn't. He looked at each of them in turn, trying to find anything that seemed familiar, anything to trigger a memory like Dr. Walters had said might happen.

But there had been nothing.

No memory, at least.

It wasn't that difficult to figure out that if the older guy was Henry Spencer, he probably was his father. The woman might be his mother, judged by her age and the fact that she looked a bit like the face he had seen in the mirror earlier.

The younger black guy he couldn't quite place. But maybe his family had had an Angelina Jolie/Brad Pitt thing going on long before it became fashionable in Hollywood. And why did he remember the adopting sprees of some random actors, but had no idea who the three people in his hospital room were?

Dr. Walters excused himself and left him alone with them and their expectant gazes. Not helping. Not helping at all. The silence that settled over the room was overpowering, and he felt their eyes burn on him. He couldn't look up at them, couldn't stand to make eye contact and see the hope in their eyes turn into disappointment. He finally said something just to break the oppressive silence.

"Erm…I guess the doctor told you what happened. I don't really remember much right now."

It wasn't exactly the peak of eloquence, but at least it broke the silence. It got the conversation going, even if only haltingly. And it confirmed his suspicions. The older guy was his father, the woman was his mother. Well, sorry Mom and Dad, I have no idea who you are.

He hadn't even meant to crack that joke about the younger guy being his brother, it had simply come out of nowhere. Well, the expression on their faces had been priceless, but he hadn't felt like laughing.

So the other guy was his best friend. Gus. Or Burton. How a name like Burton could be shortened into Gus eluded him, but then again he didn't understand how somebody could name their child Burton in the first place.

The whole scene had been pretty surreal. At one point, he had been worried that the woman – his mother, he reminded himself – might rush up to hug him. He didn't know if he'd have been able to handle that. Judged by the slight twitching of his muscles, his father had worried about that, too. But in the end she simply had pulled up a chair and sat down beside his bed. Gus had done the same.

And his father had stormed out of the room.

Now that was food for thought.

He openly admitted that it was an awkward situation, but he hadn't exactly done this on purpose. He doubted anyone ever lost his memory on purpose. At least his family still knew who they were, so he really saw no reason for his father to storm out of the room. If anybody had the right to storm out, it should be him.

Obviously, his mother and Gus had thought along similar lines, if their exchange of glances was anything to go by. They had tried to smooth it over for him, though. They had fed him some crack-and-bull lines about Henry having had a hard day, and about this being difficult for him. He had nodded silently, but he hadn't bought that story.

His father might have had a hard day, but his own day had been hellish. If this was going to end in a pissing contest about who had had the worse day, Shawn was pretty sure he would win. Was it really so hard to just stay in his room for a little more than five minutes?

But maybe it had nothing to do with his father having a hard day at all. Maybe there was more to it than that.

It sucked, having lost your memory.

It sucked even more not to know what was going on behind the scenes, and why people were behaving the way they did. Obviously, he had thirty years worth of relationship with his father, and somewhere amongst those buried memories was probably the reason why his father had stormed out of the hospital room.

His mother and Gus had tried to make some light conversation after his father's abrupt exit. And in truth, there had been a lot of questions he wanted to ask. But it was as if in addition to his memory, his brain was shutting down, and before he knew it he had fallen asleep.

He hadn't woken up again until the next morning, when a nurse had come in with his breakfast, a smile on her lips and the cheerful greeting of 'Good morning Mr. Spencer'."

His first reaction had been to ask who Mr. Spencer was.

And then he had realized that it was him, though he didn't remember that it was him, and the panic from the previous day had started to rise again.

He still couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember a single thing about himself. He couldn't remember dreaming anything during the night, either.

It was back to square one. The nurse told him cheerfully that he was going to be released today, and that his family would take him home.

He didn't even know where home was, come to think about it. There had been too little time to ask questions before he had fallen asleep the previous day, he'd just have to figure out all this stuff now.

Stoically, he underwent yet another examination by Dr. Walters, and then he patiently waited in his room while the doctor went to talk about the results of that examination with his parents. Just wonderful. He might be a thirty year old man without any memories, but he still remained a thirty year old man. He figured that should be reason enough to let him know what his own damn test results were.

But all he could do was wait until the grown-ups were finished.

Finally his mother came into his room to fetch him. All the paperwork was taken care of, and before he knew it Shawn found himself standing in the hospital parking lot with his parents and Gus. There was a certain amount of discussion – again without anybody asking Shawn for his opinion on whatever the matter was – and a few minutes later his mother and Gus had left in a little blue car and he was sitting in the front seat of a truck together with his father.

Oh joy.

He was sure that his mother had caused this driving constellation deliberately after his father had stormed out of the room the previous night. That was probably what the whole discussion had been about, and it seemed like his mother had won. He asked himself if that always happened.

And now he was stuck on a car drive to god only knew where together with his father who clearly wanted to be anywhere but here right now.

His father silently put the car into gear and drove out of the parking lot. For a few minutes, they silently drove through Fresno and towards the highway.

Shawn didn't quite dare to speak. His father hadn't said a single word in the hospital room last night, and this morning the only words from him had been a mumbled yet gruff "good morning". He didn't seem like the chatty type.

On the other hand, Shawn was pretty sure that he'd burst soon if he didn't finally get some answers. Something basic would even be enough for a start.

"Where are we going?"  
His father kept on looking straight ahead, but Shawn noticed a slight tightening of his hands around the steering wheel, just as if he had been hoping Shawn would spend the entire drive in silence.

"Santa Barbara."

Shawn nodded and continued to stare at the highway ahead. Santa Barbara. Didn't ring a bell. So that wasn't what might trigger his memory either.

He shifted slightly in his seat and readjusted his seatbelt. So obviously, his father wasn't particularly keen on talking to him. Well, he could have guessed that from the previous night already.

Actually, Shawn had two working theories on why that was. Either his father and he were extremely close, and his father couldn't handle the fact that his son no longer remembered him; or his father and he weren't close at all, and his father was incredibly annoyed that he had to drive all the way to Fresno because Shawn had gotten into that accident.

He didn't know which was true, but right now, he was favoring the second possibility.

When they were another ten miles closer to Santa Barbara, Shawn could see that his father started clenching and unclenching his hands around the steering wheel. It was obvious that he was struggling with something, but it took another few minutes until he finally managed to pry his jaws apart and speak.

"I'm sorry."

Shawn looked over towards his father with a frown, but Henry kept his eyes firmly on the road.

"I'm sorry for storming out of your room last night."

Shawn shrugged. "That's all right."

"No. It's not."

Actually Shawn agreed with that statement, but he didn't quite know what else to say.

After a few moments, Henry sighed. "All this isn't easy. And yes, I know that it's a lot harder for you than it is for anybody else. But that doesn't mean it's easy for me, all right? It was wrong to storm out of the room like that, but I just can't pretend that everything is normal."

Wow, that had been a whole speech. And judged by how firmly his father was clamping his jaws shut again, that was all he intended to say on that matter. Shawn shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he watched the landscape pass by. Santa Barbara still seemed like an eternity away.

"Nothing is normal."

"You got that right." Henry grumbled.

"So why didn't I just drive home with Gus? Not that anybody asked me."  
For a short moment, the corners of Henry's mouth twitched upwards. "If it's any consolation, I wasn't asked either. That was your mother's idea. She thinks driving home together might give us a chance to talk."

"And you don't want to talk."

Henry shrugged. "Listen Shawn, I'm not good at this. Your mother is convinced that a two-hour drive will give us the chance for a good old heart-to-heart, and by the time we get to Santa Barbara we'll be as close as the Waltons. I don't think that's going to work. But if there's anything you want to ask, just shoot ahead. That I'm not the touchy feely kind of guy doesn't mean I'm not ready and willing to help you remember."

Shawn didn't quite know what to make of this. As supportive as the message was supposed to sound, his father definitely needed to work on his delivery. A less grumpy voice might be a start, and eye contact would also be nice.

What did he expect Shawn to do now? How did his normal dynamic with his father work? Had that gruff message just now been an invitation to go ahead and ask questions? And if so, what kind of questions? Or should he have been able to hear a deeper meaning behind those words?

This was all so frustrating. He was sure that Gus or his mother would have been easier to deal with. At least they had tried to start a conversation the previous evening, and all this would be a lot easier if somebody else started this conversation for Shawn.

How was he supposed to know what to say next?

But the silence was even worse than anything else. Probably. He didn't know why, but somehow he had the feeling that if he said the wrong thing now, he'd get on his father's bad side. And that was totally unfair, seeing that he had absolutely no clue what the right or wrong thing to say would be.

Nevertheless, he just had to try.

The silence was worse.

"So…what did Dr. Walters say earlier?"

His father gave a small shrug. "That the test results were still the same than yesterday. You have a concussion. No immediate danger there, but you shouldn't be alone for a few days, just in case. Besides, Dr. Walters is convinced that you might remember easier if there's somebody around to help you jog your memory."

"So where are we going now?"

"My place."

For a moment Shawn wondered who had made that decision. Or when it had been made. Or why nobody had asked him where he wanted to go. But it seemed he had no choice. After all, he'd be pretty unable to find his apartment on his own. If he even had an own apartment, that is.

"Where do I live?"

"You have an own apartment in Santa Barbara."

"Oh. Okay."

So he didn't live with his parents anymore. Well, that was at least something. A piece of information he hadn't had so far. Tiny pieces in a big puzzle, and he had yet to get a corner piece. But that was obviously the way this worked.

"And then?"

"What then?"

Shawn shrugged awkwardly and scratched at the skin around his cast. It was itching horribly, but he couldn't get his fingers far enough under the cast to scratch it properly.

"You know, what happens then? We just stay at your place and wait for my memory to come back?"

His father sighed. "I don't know, Shawn."

It was strange to hear the name directed at him. It still didn't sound as if the name belonged to him.

His father's fingers tightened around the steering wheel again, and he still kept his eyes focused on the highway ahead.

"Dr. Walters suggested that you get yourself checked out again tomorrow. But who knows, maybe until then your memory will have started to come back."

Yeah. Maybe. What worried Shawn far more was the question what would happen if it didn't. He couldn't go on like this for much longer. That he didn't recognize the people around him was one thing, but he didn't even know the first thing about himself.

"What about my job?"

The expression on his father's face darkened.

"What about it?"

"Don't I have to go to work? What is my job, anyway?"  
Henry sighed. "You're a consultant."

Shawn frowned. "Consultant? For what?"

"For the Santa Barbara Police Department. You consult on police cases. But the Chief knows what happened, so you don't need to worry about that."

But Shawn was still too hung up on the revelation about his chosen profession. A police consultant? How did one become a police consultant?

"So I'm working with the police, on official cases?"

"Yeah." His father's voice had become very clipped and gruff by now, but Shawn barely noticed. His curiosity was peaked.

"But why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why do I work as a police consultant? I mean, if I'm good at solving crimes, why don't I work as a cop?"

Another sigh, longer this time. "Beats me, Shawn. That's one of the questions you never answered me."

"So you want me to be a cop?"

Henry shrugged. "There are worse jobs."

And suddenly, Shawn understood. "You're a cop."

"Was. I've been retired for five years now."

"Oh. Okay."

Henry didn't make another contribution on that topic, and somehow Shawn got the feeling that any further prodding wouldn't be advisable right now. Not that he had any idea on how to read the gruff man beside him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was treading on dangerous ground here.

So he leaned back in his seat and stared out of the window. His father didn't make another attempt at starting a conversation, so he listened to the sound of the truck's engine as they drove along the highway.

The ride to Santa Barbara was endless.

In reality, it was only slightly more than two hours. But it were two hours in which Shawn was left alone with his thoughts – and right now, his thoughts consisted solely of questions. What else could he think about, it wasn't as if he remembered a lot of things right now.

Shawn Henry Spencer.

The name still sounded like it belonged to a stranger. But then again, the face he saw reflected in the rear view mirror was that of a stranger, too. So somehow that at least was fitting. A stranger's name for a stranger's face.

He was Shawn Spencer, police consultant. Whatever that meant. Why did the police need a consultant for, anyway? That's what cops were for, solving cases. So why would they need to consult a private investigator? Did that mean that he was a better detective than the police officers in Santa Barbara were? But if that was the case, why hadn't he become a cop?

Obviously, his father had been a cop. So why hadn't he followed in his footsteps instead of choosing such a strange way to work in law enforcement? And why did his father react so strangely, as if his choice of a job was a sore topic between them?

He had only gotten a few new pieces of information about his life, but those pieces had only led to even more questions.

Finally, his father pulled the car into the driveway of a house and killed the engine. Shawn looked out curiously. It was a nice enough looking house, white with red-trimmed windows and doorframes.

As Shawn got out of the car, the front door opened and his mother appeared in the doorframe.

"There you are. We already thought you had gotten lost. Come on in, I made coffee."

Shawn heard his father grumble something, and though he didn't understand the words, it was obvious that his father was irritated. Not for the first time, Shawn started to wonder about the state of his parents' marriage. They certainly didn't seem very close, and especially his father seemed to be easily irritated by his mother.

Slowly, hesitantly, Shawn walked the distance from the truck to the front door. Nothing about the house seemed familiar to him, nothing sparked any memories. He turned back towards his father.

"Did we always live here?"

Henry looked up, as if he was startled that Shawn was talking to him. Then he nodded.

"Yes, you grew up here. You lived here until you moved out."

Shawn drew a deep breath and entered the house. If he had spent his entire childhood here, there simply had to be something he remembered. Just a tiny little detail, he didn't ask for a miracle. Just something he remembered.

They entered the house in the spacious kitchen. The interior of the room wasn't new, but it was comfortable. Ignoring his mother and her offer of coffee, Shawn went through the kitchen and into the living room. Again, here was everything that was supposed to be in a living room – sofa, TV-set, sideboard, bookshelf. Everything that was supposed to be in a living room, but there was nothing Shawn recognized.

Somebody here had a serious affinity for fishing, and Shawn doubted that it was him. But that was all.

He hadn't even noticed that the others, his mother, his father and Gus had followed him into the living room, but now he had to brush past them on his way out of the room. There had been stairs leading up form the kitchen.

The kitchen and the living room might not have sparked his memory, but there simply had to be something in this house he remembered. Something, anything.

He didn't even notice that his steps grew hurried as he climbed the stairs. Neither did he care. He needed to find something that would make him remember.

Upstairs in the corridor, Shawn blindly opened doors and looked into the rooms. The first door led to the master bedroom. Obviously that was his parents' bedroom. Bed, wardrobe, absolutely nothing of interest.

The next door was the bathroom. Not very telling, either.

Shawn opened another door and found himself in what had to be his childhood bedroom. He stopped short.

A bed stood against the wall beside the wardrobe. A desk was still standing in front of the window, its surface cleared of any clutter. The two shelves against one wall still contained some trophies and books, and Shawn curiously stepped up to take a closer look.

Two soccer trophies, from 1987 ad 1988. How old had he been then? Ten? Eleven? Something like that. So he had played soccer. He didn't remember playing soccer. But if he had trophies, then he must have played soccer once.

He took one of the trophies into his hand and looked at it more closely. At one point, when he was ten years old, somebody had given him that trophy. Probably his team had won a tournament. He must have been proud when he had come home with it, must have proudly shown it to his mother and father. Maybe they had praised him for the achievement, had put the trophy on the mantle in the living room for a while.

Whatever it was, Shawn didn't remember. He didn't remember the living room, didn't remember the kitchen or his own bedroom. He didn't remember this damn house, and no matter how long he looked around here, he still had no frigging clue as to who the fuck he was.

Was it so hard to remember?

What did it take to jog his memory?

Certainly his life couldn't have been so bad that his brain simply blocked out the memories. So why didn't he remember?

Why couldn't he remember the first thing about his own damn life? What else was he supposed to do?

This was frustrating.

And it was unfair.

And why couldn't it happen to somebody else? What was so bad about his life that his brain had willingly erased all memories of it?

For how long was he supposed to take this before it got better? And what if the doctors were wrong and his memories would never come back?

"Shawn?"

He turned around upon hearing the hesitant voice behind him. His mother was standing in the doorway of his room.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart? Do you remember anything?"

"How am I feeling? How I am feeling? Is that a joke? I'm feeling just fine! Here I am, standing in a house I don't remember, in the bedroom I lived in during a childhood which I can't remember, holding a trophy which I won for something else I can't remember and telling my mother whom I don't remember how wonderful my life is! I'm doing just great!"

Shawn slammed the trophy to the ground, with enough force to leave a scratch in the wooden floorboards. But he didn't care. He needed to get out of here, and fast. There was nothing here in this house, no memories, nothing he remembered, absolutely nothing. It was just a house. A house in which Shawn Spencer had grown up, had lived with his family, had done his homework and had gotten stupid trophies for being on a soccer team.

But it wasn't his house.

It wasn't his home.

He had no idea who the Shawn Spencer that had grown up here was.

Shawn Spencer was a stranger to him, just like the mother, father and best friend who were lingering in the corridor were strangers.

This wasn't his life, it wasn't his house, and it wasn't his family.

He needed to get out of here.

He brushed past a startled Margaret, hurried down the stairs and ran out of the house.


	7. If this is my life, I want a refund

**Chapter 7 – If this is my life, I want a refund**

Gus was startled as Shawn suddenly stormed out of his room, down the stairs and out of the house through the backdoor. He had heard what Shawn had yelled, of course. Probably, everybody in the neighborhood had heard what Shawn had yelled. But up until a few minutes ago, Shawn hadn't seemed as if an outbreak was about to happen. He had been confused, yes, but nowhere near an outbreak.

For a moment, nobody in the house moved. Margaret remained standing in the doorway to Shawn's room, and Gus and Henry stood frozen to their respective sports in the corridor. Then the back door slammed shut as if it was their signal to move again.

Margaret remained standing where she was, one hand pressed against her chest and staring down the stairs, but Henry took a step towards the door to follow his son. Gus stopped him with a hand against his arm.

"Mr. Spen…Henry, let me go."

Henry watched him for a second, then he nodded. "All right."

Gus turned towards the door and left the house. Shawn hadn't come far, Gus could clearly see him down at the beach. His friend had sat down and was staring ahead at the ocean.

Glad that he didn't have to go chasing Shawn down in the neighborhood, Gus walked the short distance over towards the beach and sat down beside his friend.

Shawn didn't look up as Gus sat down, he kept on staring ahead, though Gus had no idea what his friend could possibly be looking at. The ocean was extremely still, and there were no other surfers or swimmers on the beach.

Gus crossed his legs Indian-style and started to trace lines in the sand with his index finger.

"It must suck, not being able to remember."

"Yeah." Shawn picked up a fist full of sand and slowly let it run out of his hand. "It feels like all this is a bad joke. My name doesn't sound like it belongs to me. And this house, it's…it just doesn't feel as if I had ever been here. I can't imagine that I've grown up here."

"What did the doctors say?"

"You mean the few times when they actually talked to _me_, and not to my parents? That my memory should come back soon. That I shouldn't pressure myself. That I need to give it some time. They could have just given me the leaflet instead of reciting it to me."

Gus chuckled, and Shawn turned his head and glared at him angrily.

"I don't think any of this is funny."

Gus shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. But you know what keeps me confident?"

"What? I could really use a little confidence right now."

Gus shrugged a little awkwardly. "Well, you might not remember who you are right now, but there are still traces of the Shawn I know shining through."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Yeah? Like what?"

"Your sense of humor. I swear, when you cracked that joke about me being your brother, I thought for a moment that you were just having a laugh at our expense with the whole amnesia thing. It was such a Shawn thing to say."  
"And that makes you confident that my memory will come back."

"Yeah. Somehow. I mean, I've got to cling to something, right? And in my book, what I said in the hospital is true. If that blow to your head didn't manage to knock away your sense of humor, I'm confident that the rest will come back, too."

Shawn thought for a long moment, watching another handful of sand as it ran through his fingers and blew away in the breeze.

"So what defines me is my sense of humor?"

Gus shrugged. "Not exclusively. But it's a part of it, yes."

"And the rest?"

"What do you mean?"

Shawn sighed and finally turned to look at Gus. "The rest. I mean, you say that my sense of humor isn't everything. I have no idea who Shawn Spencer is. You are my best friend, so you should know who I am. For how long have we known each other, anyway?"

Gus smiled at the memory. "Since we about six, maybe seven years old. My family moved to Santa Barbara while I was in the first grade, and we went into the same class. Our teacher thought it was a good idea if somebody showed me around the school."

"And I volunteered?" Shawn frowned, as if that thought was somehow disgusting. "Somehow, I don't see myself as the volunteering type."

Gus chuckled. "You didn't exactly volunteer per se. You were dozing, and when Mrs. Godowsky called up your name, you immediately said yes to cover up for the fact that you had no idea what she was talking about. What followed should have told me something."  
"Why?"

"You showed me around the school, dared me to go into a girls' toilet, and before I knew it my first day at the new school ended with a visit to the principal's office."

Shawn smiled, but it was just a shadow of his usual smile.

"So I'm a troublemaker."

Gus gave a half-shrug. "In a way. I mean, you often got into trouble. _We_ often got into trouble. Still do. But that was mostly because you're the kind of guy who needs to try everything. You never were someone to let things go just because somebody else told you it was no good idea. You always need to try everything out for yourself."

Shawn sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "It's just so damn frustrating. I mean, you could tell me anything right now, and I'd simply have to believe it. So far, what I can remember about my life is a hospital visit and the drive here. I know the most ridiculous things, but I just don't have any clue as to who I am."

"What do you mean, you know the most ridiculous things?"

Shawn shrugged. "I know who the President is, but I don't know if I voted for him. I know who won the Super Bowl last year, but I can't remember if I watched the game or not." He pointed out towards the ocean. "I know that I've seen the sea before, but for all I know I could have lived in the Caribbean for my entire life and not here. I know that I like pancakes, and that I don't like Brussels sprouts, but I can't remember a single instance when I've ever eaten them. It's like the answers are always somewhere at the edge of my vision, but I just can't see them. It's so damn frustrating!"

He picked up another fist full of sand and angrily tossed it towards the ocean. "And they're not helping, not at all."

"Your parents?"

"Yeah, my parents."

There was a lot of bitterness in Shawn's voice, and Gus really wondered about that. On any normal day, that wouldn't have surprised him, not after everything he knew had happened in Shawn's family. But right now, Shawn didn't know or remember that, so Gus asked himself where the bitterness came from.

"What did they do?"

"Nothing. I don't know, it's just that it's so awkward. My mother is always looking at me expectantly, as if everything was supposed to make me remember. I mean, she's nice enough and I know that she only means well, but I simply don't remember yet. But it feels as if everything she plans and decides is a plot to make me remember more. Forcing me to drive home with my father. My old bedroom. I just didn't remember anything, and it felt as if I was disappointing her expectations just because it didn't help me remember. And my father, well. That's just weird."

"Weird how?"

"Weird everything, Gus. The first thing he did before he even said a word to me was to storm out of my hospital room, if you care to remember. And this morning the weirdness continued. It was obvious that he didn't want that driving constellation to happen, that he wasn't exactly glad about being forced to drive home with me. He wasn't exactly chatty, either."

"Henry generally isn't." Gus didn't know what else to say. In fact, that was one thing he had been afraid of. Shawn's relationship to his father was difficult enough to understand for him. He had absolutely no clue how he was supposed to explain it to his friend.

"But I can't help the feeling that there's more to it. Chatty or not, I mean if your son ends up in hospital not remembering a thing about his life, isn't it normal that you try to at least talk to him? But we would have spent the entire drive in silence if I hadn't asked a few things. And all I got back were monosyllabic answers to my questions and the feeling that my father doesn't particularly like me."  
Gus shook his head. "That's not true."  
"But there is something." Shawn slammed his palms into the sand in frustration. "Something is not right about my father and me. So what is it?"

Gus sighed and ran a hand over his head. This was it. This was where things got difficult. And this was exactly what he had wanted to avoid.

"Your Dad isn't the kind of guy who is all about talking about his feelings, Shawn. This situation isn't easy for him because normally you know how to deal with his moods and he doesn't have to explain himself."

"But right now I don't. All I know is that I'm getting some really strange vibes from him and that he seems to be glad when he doesn't have to be in the same room as me. You know, after he stormed out of the hospital room I had two theories. Either he and I are incredibly close and he couldn't stand the thought that I didn't remember him, or he and I aren't close at all and he was annoyed that he had to be there at all. After this morning, I'm tending towards the latter."

Gus shook his head. "That's not it. Actually, neither explanation is true."

"That's not really helping, you know?"

Gus sighed. "I know. The truth is, your relationship with your father hasn't always been easy. Still isn't."

Shawn's eyebrows perked up in interest. "What happened?"

"A lot of things, but it's not really my place to tell."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Just great. Just feed me tidbits of information that don't really make sense. Let's all have a laugh at the amnesiac's cost. Thank you very much Gus, but that doesn't help me get the big picture, either."

"I can imagine that."

"No you can't!" Shawn angrily got up from the sand and started walking along the beach. Gus quickly tried to catch up with his friend.

"I'm sorry, Shawn. You're right, I can't imagine what it has to feel like. But you also have to try and understand me. I don't know everything that went down between your father and you. You want the big picture? Well, the big picture is that the two of you butted heads more often than anybody could keep count of, because you can both be stubborn as mules when it comes down to it. But you also care about each other, and your normal dynamic is that you'd much rather fight than ever admit that. But I can't tell you any details because fact is that I don't know all the details of what's going on with the two of you. I never really understood it, either. It's just not my place to tell you about things which I don't really know or understand."

Shawn stopped walking and sighed. "But that's what's going on right now? That we don't really get along and he doesn't know how to react now?"

That wasn't the whole truth, and Gus knew that he had to give his friend at least a little something like an explanation to make him understand what was going on. He didn't particularly want to bear the whole weight of the explanation. Not after everything that had happened over the past three weeks. And he still had no idea what exactly had gone down during Shawn's and Henry's latest falling out in the hospital. It wasn't his place to tell, and Henry Spencer better get his butt into gear sooner or later and talk to Shawn. But Gus could see clearly that Shawn didn't understand the first thing about what was going on in his family. And he could see how that was nagging at his friend. He needed to give Shawn at least something to put his father's behavior into perspective.

"Not really." He finally answered his friend's question. "I think how he's reacting now has a very specific reason."

"Which?"

"Do you know how you ended up in Fresno in the first place?"

Shawn shook his head. "No Gus, because that would mean remembering _something_. Right now, I'm glad I even remember where Fresno is!"

"All right. You were on your way back from San Francisco where you visited a friend for a few days."

It was only a half-truth, Gus knew that. And sooner or later it would come back to bite him. But right now, he didn't want to go into a lengthy explanation about Shawn's habit of running away. Or about what had made him run away in the first place.

For the first time, it was a blessing that Shawn didn't remember, because he didn't ask for any details. "And what does that have to do with my father and me?"

"Before you left, Henry and you had a falling out. You hadn't talked in over two weeks by the time you left. I think that's what's making things difficult for him now."

Shawn frowned, the expression on his face suggesting that he was straining to come up with the appropriate memories but failing.

"What did we fight about?"

Gus sighed. "Did anybody tell you about your job?"

Shawn nodded. "Yeah. I asked him on the way back. He said I was a consultant for the police, and he didn't seem particularly happy about it."

Henry wouldn't be. Gus simply had never thought he'd ever have to explain to Shawn why that was the case.

"Yes. He always wanted you to become a cop, like him. In his book, being a police consultant is doing things halfway."

"So that's what we fought about?"

Gus shook his head. "Not really. Well, not exclusively. During the last case you worked, a couple of things went wrong. It got dangerous, and you were hurt. You ended up in the hospital with a dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs and a face that looked as if you had tried to sand a layer off your skin."

Shawn unconsciously raised a hand and rubbed at the scratches still covering his face.

Inwardly, Gus prayed that Shawn wouldn't ask any more questions. There was no way in hell that he was going to be the one to explain to his friend that he had killed a man. No way.

"So he was angry because I was hurt?"

Gus shrugged. "Yes. Probably. All I know is that you had a fight while you were in the hospital. Neither of you ever told me the details, so I really don't know. But my guess is that it was about that, yes. All I know is that it was a big falling out. You weren't talking for over two weeks. And normally when you fight, it doesn't take that long until you start talking to each other again. Then you went to visit Ricky and got into that accident. My best guess is that your father doesn't know how to deal with it. He still has that fight in the back of his head, only you don't remember it."

Shawn sighed again and stared out at the ocean for a few long moments. "So we're a family of people who don't really know how to deal with things."

Gus chuckled. "It's not that bad, Shawn. Yes, the situation right now sucks. And I can't even imagine what it has to feel like for you. But I know that your Dad is the kind of person who sometimes needs a shove in the right direction. So if you don't understand why he's doing what he's doing, just tell him that. Especially right now while you still have the amnesia-bonus. He can hardly get angry with you for not remembering how things usually go down between the two of you. Force him to explain himself, it could do both of you a lot of good."

"You know, if this whole thing about piecing my life back together was a puzzle, I'd be eternally grateful if somebody finally gave me a corner piece. Or the picture on the box, just so that I know what I'm getting myself into."

"I just don't know if I'm the right person for that, Shawn. I'll gladly answer your questions about your life. I'm just not comfortable going into details of your relationship with your parents. Not if they're there to answer those questions yourself. I just don't know enough details, and from most of what happened I only ever got to know your point of view. I'm worried that if I try to give you the details on that, you're going to get the wrong picture."

Shawn didn't look particularly convinced by that line of argument, but he nodded. "All right. So what do we do now?"

Gus shrugged. "I suggest we go back inside. Chances are good that either your mother or your father started making lunch while we were out here. And I'm not one to pass up a free meal at the Spencers."

Shawn nodded again and together the two friends silently made their way back to the house. As they opened the back door and went into the kitchen, the first thing Gus noticed was that there was indeed food cooking on the stove. But the heat was turned down on the stove and nobody was putting out plates yet. Why that was wasn't difficult to determine once Gus looked over towards the kitchen table.

Chief Vick and Juliet O'Hara were sitting there with Henry and Margaret Spencer, looking at Shawn and Gus as they entered.

Gus just wanted to draw breath to greet them when he noticed Shawn stop dead in his tracks beside him. His friend's eyes roamed over the two women, taking in their badges and handguns, then he turned a questioning gaze at his parents.

"Am I in trouble?"

Gus watched how the smile vanished from Juliet's face and how Vick raised an eyebrow in silent confusion. Henry was the first to react.

"No Shawn, you're not in trouble. This here are Detective Juliet O'Hara and Chief Vick. Remember that I told you that you're working for the police? Chief Vick is your boss."

"Ah." Shawn nodded and turned back towards the two visitors. "I'm sorry. I just don't really remember much right now. Not really anything, actually."

"That's all right Mr. Spencer." Chief Vick smiled at Shawn in what was surely meant to be an encouraging way, but Gus could tell that Shawn had had enough of those smiles during the past fifteen hours to last him a lifetime.

Juliet still looked a little insecure. "We just wanted to drop by and see how you were doing. We brought you something, too."

She gestured towards the table, where a pineapple decorated with a red ribbon was sitting amidst the coffee cups. A grin started to split Shawn's face.

"Awesome. I love pineapple."

Margaret's eyes widened. "You remember that?"

Shawn shrugged and didn't even realize how his next words again brought a look of disappointment to his mother's face. "I just know that I love pineapple. Just like I know that I don't like sprouts. It's not really remembering, I simply know."

All around the table, hopeful smiles started to waver slightly and an awkward silence started to spread. It was Juliet who finally broke it.

"We wanted to bring Lassiter along, but he wasn't home."

Shawn frowned. "Lassiter?"

"Lassie", Gus supplied hopefully. He didn't know what would happen if Lassiter's much hated nickname was the thing to spark Shawn's memory, but right now he was ready and willing to try everything.

And indeed, Shawn nodded knowingly. "Ah, Lassie. Pity, that would have been fun."  
Henry started to frown deeply, and the others looked as if they didn't quite know what to make of that comment. Neither did Gus, to be honest.

"You know who Lassie is?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Of course I know who Lassie is. Everybody knows who Lassie is. _Timmy has fallen into the deep well by the old oak tree again? We have to save him!_ I just didn't know that the police had collies these days. Or that Lassie had a real name. No small wonder that they shortened it for TV, Lassiter really doesn't sound like a name for a likeable dog."

Gus chortled. Had he been drinking milk at that moment, he was sure that it would have come back out his nose. This was classic. Shawn didn't remember anything, yet here he was, making fun of Lassiter. He couldn't wait to see the detective's reaction to that.

Juliet raised a hand to stifle her smile, and even Chief Vick was struggling to stop the corners of her mouth from rising. Shawn frowned at them in confusion.

"Did I say something funny?"

Chief Vick schooled her expression to neutral before she answered. "Carlton Lassiter is the head detective at the Santa Barbara Police Department. You work with him on occasion."

"Oh." Gus could see the gears in his friend's head shifting as he digested that newest piece of information. Shawn brought up a hand and ran it through his hair.

"And he lets you call him Lassie? Must be a guy with a sense of humor."

Now Juliet did laugh out loud, though she did her best to cover it up as a cough. Shawn looked at Gus in confusion.

"What did I say?"

Gus rolled his eyes. "You're the only one who calls him Lassie. He actually…well, I think it's fair to say that he hates it."

"Oh." Shawn turned back towards Chief Vick. "Sorry about that. But it's a little confusing, not remembering anything."

Vick smiled. "It's all right, Mr. Spencer."

"Maybe I could…you know, visit the station or something. See where I work, meet some people I work with. The doctors said that might help me remember."

Vick nodded. "Of course."

"Shawn, Gus, why don't you sit down." Henry interrupted them. "There's another reason why Karen and detective O'Hara dropped by."

Gus saw how Shawn's eyebrow twitched slightly as his father called the Chief by her first name, but he didn't comment on it. He silently pulled out a chair and sat down, and Gus did the same.

"What's wrong? You said I wasn't in trouble. If it's about that accident I got in, I don't even know what happened."

Vick shook her head. "It's not about that, Mr. Spencer. As far as I know, you weren't at fault for the accident you got in. But we might have a problem nevertheless."

"What kind of problem?"

Vick folded her hands on the table. The posture reminded Gus of the way she was sitting behind her desk in her office, but it didn't seem to spark any recognition with Shawn.

"Three weeks ago, you helped solve a case for the department, together with detective Lassiter. It was a jewel theft, and we were able to arrest the four thieves before they could cross the Mexican border. I don't know if somebody already told you about that."

Henry shook his head sharply, and Gus saw it for the warning sign it was meant to be. But Shawn didn't even look at his father.

"Gus told me about it just now. A little, at least. I ended up in the hospital, that's all I know about it."

Vick nodded. "Yes, both you and detective Lassiter were injured. However, you were able to provide us with enough proof to arrest and arraign the four thieves."

"So what's the problem you were talking about?"

Vick sighed. "I talked to the DA this morning. He is ready to put the case on trial as soon as possible. And to be honest, I am not against that myself. Right now we have five million dollars worth of diamonds in our evidence locker, I will be glad when I'm able to hand them over to the court. This morning I had a meeting with the DA about the case. I informed him about your current condition, and he is worried how that might affect the trial."

Shawn frowned and leaned back in his chair. "What does that mean?"

"Our problem is one of the lawyers representing the perpetrators. As far as lawyers go, he's a pretty sharp one. He informed the DA that he wants to call you to testify at the trial, because it was on grounds of your information that we made the arrest in the first place. The course of action he's about to take is obvious. If he can discredit you enough, he's hoping to get his clients off free. Normally, that wouldn't be too much of a problem, since your reputation with the Department is pretty solid. But both the DA and I are worried that in your current condition, it's going to blow the case if you are called to the stand."

Shawn frowned and shook his head. "I don't get it. I mean, if I gave you information that led you to those thieves, surely there has to be independent proof for their guilt. How else could I have found them?"

Gus bit his lip as a variety of reactions started to how on the faces around him. Barely concealed anger on Henry's, discomfort on Margaret's, and a sad form of confusion on both Juliet's and Chief Vick's.

Vick sighed. "It's not that easy, Mr. Spencer."  
"Why the hell not? Surely you wouldn't have made the arrest without proof. And if there's proof, there's no need for my testimony."

Vick shook her head. "There is proof, after all we caught them red-handed, trying to cross the Mexican border with five million worth of diamonds in their car. That's the proof tying them to the theft. But we only got the proof _after_ you tipped us off. If we cannot convincingly show that your tip off was based on legit grounds and not on any form of illegal investigation, there's a chance that the thieves walk free. Reasonable doubt is all they need."

"Then how did I figure out that they were the thieves if I didn't have a trail of evidence to follow?"

"You're a psychic, Mr. Spencer."  
Shawn laughed. "Sure."

He continued laughing, but after a moment Shawn realized that nobody in the room was laughing along with him. Puzzled, he looked first at Chief Vick and Juliet, as if to see whether they were pulling his leg, then he looked at Gus and finally at his parents.

"I'm a psychic?"

It was Juliet who answered. "You don't remember? Or…well, just _know_ it, like you just knew you like pineapple?"  
Gus didn't know where to look, what to do or what to say. He hadn't even thought about the fact that Shawn couldn't remember his psychic charade in his current condition. But of course Vick and Juliet considered it a real gift, and they were obviously wondering how losing his memory also meant that he could no longer remember his abilities. Shawn did remember his likes and dislikes, after all, so it was a good guess to assume that he should remember his inherent abilities as well. Gus wondered how they could get through this situation without blowing over Shawn's lie.

Shawn however, still seemed to be struggling with the revelation that had been thrown at him. He turned towards Gus as if seeking reassurance.

"I'm a psychic?"

Gus really didn't know what to say to that. But it was Chief Vick who saved him from answering the question.

"So you don't remember."

Shawn shook his head. "Right now I don't know whether I'm a psychic, a diabetic, a dyslexic or a choleric. Actually, I can't imagine that I'm either of the above, though the vote is still out on dyslexia. Anybody have a pen and paper?"

Gus nearly flinched at that. It was such a typical Shawn behavior to cover up insecurities with jokes. But right now Shawn was doing it unconsciously, and it was painful to watch.

Vick sighed and pushed her chair back. "I need to talk to the DA again. We need to postpone the trial until you have your memory back, and we need to do so before that lawyer gets wind of your condition. I'll get in touch with a specialist and schedule an examination for you, Mr. Spencer. We need a solid medical documentation of your amnesia as quickly as possible. I'll be in touch."

She got up from her chair and Juliet followed suit. Henry got up to bring them to the door. Before they left, Juliet turned towards Shawn once more.

"Get better soon, Shawn. If there's anything you need, just give me a call."

Shawn nodded absently, but to Gus it was obvious that he was still mentally chewing on the revelation that he had paranormal powers. He didn't begrudge Shawn for that, it was a lot to take in. Once Chief Vick and Juliet had left, Shawn turned towards his father.

"I'm a psychic? When exactly were you planning on telling me about this?"

Henry sighed deeply and sat down in his chair again. Gus nervously drummed his fingers against his thighs. This was not going to be pretty.

This was so not going to be pretty.


	8. As far as superpowers go, mine seem to

**Chapter 8 – ****As far as superpowers go, mine seem to suck**

The moment Karen and Detective O'Hara had stood on the doorstep, Henry had known that this would end bad. There had been too little time to brief Shawn on what was going on in his life. Earlier in the car, he had not really dared to start talking about his son's psychic charade. He had been too worried that all the anger that was still left from their previous fight would resurface, and even Henry was sensitive enough to know that in Shawn's current condition, the fight that might have resulted from that would have been unfair.

He had been counting on Margaret's and Gus' support when they finally broke the news of what exactly Shawn did for a living to him.

But now Karen had drawn a big fat line through those plans. Not only did he now have to explain to his confused son that he wasn't really a psychic but somebody who was lying to the police, no. Shawn's reaction to the revelation that he was a psychic had also been a pretty convincing argument for anybody who doubted that Shawn had paranormal powers.

Henry knew that Karen's conviction of Shawn's abilities had not always had a firm basis. After that first case Shawn had solved, he had had a long talk with her. Karen Vick was no stupid woman, quite the contrary. The only reason why she had bought Shawn's story was that she had simply been unable to come up with a better explanation. But Henry knew that given enough reason to doubt Shawn's story, Karen wouldn't hesitate to reconsider her decision of believing Shawn.

And Shawn's reaction had given her plenty of reason for doubt.

And now Shawn had gotten up from his chair and was standing in front of them, an expression of complete and utter disbelief on his face.

"I'm a psychic? Would somebody finally care to explain that to me?"

Henry sighed. "Sit down, Shawn."

"No, I won't sit down. I'm thirty years old, and while I might not remember much right now, I know when I want to sit down and when not. And right now, I don't want to sit down. I want an explanation! Only this morning you told me that I was a police consultant. Wouldn't that have been a good moment to at least hint at the fact that I'm a psychic?"  
Henry ran a hand over his head and stared down at the tabletop for a moment. He was desperately hoping for either Margaret or Gus to butt in and start with the explanation. He didn't want to explain this to Shawn. He was ready and willing to explain everything but that source of constant conflict between them. He didn't know how.

But neither Margaret nor Gus said a word.

Of course not.

It always ended up being him.

Henry drew a deep breath and tried to bring his thoughts into some semblance of order.

"I could have told you about it this morning, of course. But it's not as simple as it might sound right now."

"I've just been told that I'm a psychic. Believe me that I don't think there's anything simple about that."

Henry nodded. "Fair enough. But what I'm about to tell you will make it only more complicated. Because you're not a psychic, Shawn."

At that, Shawn sat down again, despite his earlier words.

"What?"

"You're not a psychic."

Shawn shook his head. "Now wait just one second. You tell me that I'm working as a police consultant. And just a few minutes ago the Chief of police, for whom I consult, tells me that I'm a psychic. Neither of you said any word of protest at that. And now that she has left, you tell me that I'm in fact not a psychic. So please, could anybody tell me the truth? Just the plain and simple truth, in a nutshell? Is that at all possible, or do I have to figure it all out on my own?"

Henry sighed again. "The plain and simple truth is that you pretend to be a psychic, and that only the people in this room know that you are not."

Shawn was still frowning at each of them in turn. "Does anybody want to add something to that? Because I'm still not sure that I understand."

Margaret and Gus still didn't make a move to involve themselves in the conversation, so Henry finally caved.

"I was a cop, I already told you that. And I tried to teach you everything you needed to know to become a cop, as well."

"But I'm not a cop."

Henry sighed. "No, you're not. You chose not to become one. But that doesn't change the fact that you're a very skilled observer, and that you're very good at drawing the right conclusions. Better than most cops. And since you are unable to keep your nose out of other people's business, you got involved in a police case one day. You tried to put the police on the right track, and they got suspicious of how much you knew about the case."

Shawn frowned. "Does that mean they suspected me?"

Henry nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what it means. And to get rid of that suspicion, you did the first thing that came to mind. You told Karen that you were a psychic."

"And she believed that? Come on. I mean, she didn't seem that gullible to me just now."

Henry nearly laughed at that. "Oh, she isn't. If there's one thing Karen Vick isn't, it's gullible. But you provided crucial information on the case, information which the police wouldn't have found without you. You wrapped it up in fake visions, and since Karen wasn't able to find another explanation for your knowledge, she decided to give you the benefit of the doubt."

Shawn shook his head. "I don't believe that."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't believe that she just bought that story. You told me that she wasn't gullible, and in the next sentence you tell me that she believed me when I pretended to have fake visions. That doesn't really make sense."  
Henry drew a deep breath and bit his lip. He didn't want to discuss this matter with his son, not at all. More than once he had doubted the wisdom of covering up for Shawn. He had given him carte blanche for his lies because he had hoped it would show Shawn that police work was what he was born to do. That plan had backfired, but once Henry had given his son that backup, there was no taking it away again.

Shawn was still shaking his head. "I mean, it's obvious that the two of you know each other. Don't tell me she never asked you about whether I'm a psychic or not."  
"She did."

That shut Shawn up pretty quickly. The look his son gave him reminded him of the look of complete astonishment he had had on the day that Henry had covered for him the first time. He wondered what Shawn was thinking about their relationship if he was so surprised at the fact that his father had supported his ridiculous claim. He couldn't have gotten a clear picture of their dysfunctionality in those fifteen or sixteen hours since the accident, could he?

"And you covered up for me."

It was a statement, but the way Shawn said it, it sounded like a question.

Henry nodded. "Yes, I did. I never told her explicitly that you had psychic powers, don't get the wrong idea about that. I never lied for you. But I left her with the expression that letting you consult on police cases would not be a decision she'd regret. That was two years ago. By now you have a reputation as a psychic with the department even without my speaking for you."

Shawn looked at his father for a long moment, and Henry wanted nothing more than to look away under the intense gaze.

"But you don't like what I'm doing."

"Honestly? No, I don't particularly like that my son is getting by on a lie. But as you like to point out to me, you're an adult and no longer need my blessing for what you chose to do."

"And now this jewel theft case is threatening to blow because I'm a fake psychic with no memory of what I'm doing, or how I got to the conclusion that those guys were the jewel thieves in the first place."  
Henry nodded. "That about sums it up, yes. If that trial starts before you get your memory back, there's a good chance they will walk. It all depends on how good their lawyer knows his technicalities."

Shawn leaned back in his chair and ran both hands over his face. "No pressure. But if I don't remember soon, some criminals might walk free. That's just great."

Henry shrugged. "That's what you get for lying. It always comes back to haunt you. But Karen is going to find a specialist to examine you again. If your amnesia is officially documented by a specialist the court recognizes, nothing speaks against postponing the trial. And now I suggest we finally eat lunch. I for one don't want to discuss this matter to death."

Henry got up from his chair and walked over towards the stove. He only hoped that neither Margaret nor Gus would chose this moment to finally open their mouths and say something. This was as far as he was ready and willing to go talking about Shawn's chosen profession without resorting to accusations and _'I told you so's_.

Shawn didn't look as if he was ready to accept this as the ending point of their conversation, but as he drew a breath to say something else Gus put a hand on his arm and shook his head.

Before Shawn's amnesia, Henry had been willing to believe that his son and Gus didn't always need words to communicate. He doubted that this was the case right now that Shawn no longer remembered his lifelong friendship with Gus, but obviously the expression on Gus' face was enough to shut Shawn up. Probably they'd be discussing the matter further as soon as they were alone, but Henry forced himself not to care.

Their relationship was as it was, amnesia or not. Shawn seemed to have gotten the message that his father was not okay with his decision to pretend to be a psychic, that was all he had wanted to bring across. Besides, his memory was supposed to come back soon, then he'd understand.

And maybe the thought of a group of criminals walking free was enough to make his son reconsider his chosen profession. If that was what it took, Henry was willing to go down that road.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It didn't take long for Karen to call back about the specialist. She had spoken to the DA again, and obviously they were both too worried about the case to blow up into their faces than to take any risks. The DA had gotten her the name of a recognized specialist on the field of neurology, and Karen had made an appointment for that afternoon.

So not too long after a very quiet and awkward lunch, Henry and Shawn found themselves in the office of Dr. Harold Wilson for another examination.

Shawn had protested that he was able to go to the appointment on his own, that he didn't need a babysitter to go to the doctor, and that if already somebody had to come with him, Gus could do that just as well as Henry. But Henry had insisted. One sharp look had shut Gus up before he even had the chance to protest, and then Henry had told Shawn in no uncertain terms that somebody who was familiar with Shawn's medical history had to accompany him.

It hadn't been an argument that had convinced Shawn, but it had been an argument that had left him with no other choice but to relent. Not that Henry would have let his son go there on his own. He knew how Shawn was about doctor's appointments, and he especially knew how Shawn was about sharing the results of those appointments. He doubted that even amnesia could change that.

So Henry was sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Wilson's office while Shawn was inside and got examined. Karen had made sure that all the x-rays and the images from Shawn's CAT-scan were sent over so that Dr. Wilson could get a picture of the extent of Shawn's injuries.

It took over half an hour until the door to the examination room opened and Dr. Walters appeared in the doorframe.

"Would you come in, Mr. Spencer?"

Henry nodded, got up from his chair and followed the doctor into the examination room. Shawn was sitting on the examination table, fully dressed and with a deep scowl on his face as his father entered the room.

"Please Mr. Spencer, take a seat."

Henry took one of the free chairs against the wall and Dr. Wilson sat down in his desk chair.

"I've examined your son, and upon request of Chief Vick I've also taken a close look at Shawn's most recent medical history."

Henry nodded. "And what's your diagnosis?"

Wilson shrugged. "That the results are inconclusive. Which is why I asked you to join us. Your son actually was against it, and I am bound by doctor-patient-confidentiality."  
Shawn glared at his father as the doctor said those words, and Henry couldn't help but be confused.

"So if he doesn't want me to be here, why did you call me in?"  
"Your son finally agreed that in order to come to a conclusive diagnosis, we need to re-examine his medical history. As Shawn himself is unable to remember anything, we don't have any choice but to ask you."

Henry nodded. "All right. What do you want to know?"

"I've dealt with many cases of amnesia before. You might tire of hearing it, but it is no unusual occurrence after a head trauma. The problem is that in most cases, the severity of the amnesia is directly connected to the severity of the head trauma."

"The doctor in Fresno already told us that."

Wilson nodded. "I'm sure he did. But you see, in Shawn's case those proportions don't add up. Most accident victims are unable to recall the minutes, maybe the last few hours leading up to the accident. And in most cases, the memory of the accident as such is never regained, even if the other memories slowly return. In Shawn's case, the memory loss is extensive. Disproportional to the head trauma. The X-rays and the CAT-scan show no abnormalities in Shawn's brain, nothing that objects the initial diagnosis of a mild concussion. Frankly, I'm surprised that such a comparatively mild head trauma could cause retrograde amnesia of that degree."

Henry frowned. "So you're trying to tell me that Shawn should actually be able to remember?"  
Wilson made a not-quite gesture with his hands. "Not precisely. The function of the human brain is still not entirely predictable. But it's highly unusual that this amnesia should be caused by a mild concussion. So I was wondering whether there is anything else that his medical records don't tell us."

Henry shrugged. "He had another concussion about three weeks ago. Back then the doctors said it was a light concussion, but maybe that added to the effect."  
Wilson shook his head. "I got the results of all the examinations that were made during his hospital stay three weeks ago, and I doubt that this is the case. Of course with multiple concussions there's always the danger that the effects get more severe, but those were the only two instances over the past years that Shawn suffered from any form of head trauma."

"Then I don't know what else you want to hear, doctor. You have Shawn's medical records, that's everything there is. If he had any other injuries over the past months, he didn't tell me about it."

Wilson nodded and picked up a pen which he started twirling between his fingers as he spoke.

"Retrograde amnesia is a direct reaction to a head trauma, that's right. But in Shawn's case I doubt that it's all there is to it."

Henry frowned. "What else should there be to it?"

Still twirling the pen between his fingers, Wilson looked at Henry. "It could be a combination of different factors. Amnesia can also be the result of a psychological trauma. It's a protective mechanism of the brain, if you so will."

"But if that was the case, shouldn't the amnesia have set in immediately after the psychological trauma happened?"

Wilson shrugged. "Not necessarily. As I told you, predicting the workings of the human brain still isn't an exact science, at least not where those matters are concerned. Of course the protective mechanism normally sets in immediately after the traumatic event occurred. But I've seen cases before in which that didn't happen, but in which the reaction to a subsequent physical trauma was disproportional. In layman's terms that would mean his brain seized the opportunity of the head trauma to protect itself from the psychological trauma as well. But we don't need to discuss this matter any further if there is no psychological trauma in Shawn's recent past in the first place."  
Henry drew a deep breath. Certainly, killing somebody after a chase for his life down the mountain could count as a psychological trauma. Especially in the light of the little he knew about Shawn's initial reaction to pulling the trigger. But there was no way he was going to talk about that in front of Shawn right now.

"What would count as psychological trauma?"

Wilson regarded Henry for a moment, as if he knew that he was only stalling for time. And Shawn wasn't stupid enough not to see through this immediately. If there had been no psychological trauma in his past, Henry would have just said no. Henry knew that, nevertheless he would try his damned best to tell Wilson the truth of what happened without going over the details with Shawn. Not now, and certainly not here.

"The definition of that is a bit hazy. But to cause such a serious case of amnesia, I'd say it would have to be something extremely traumatic. In most cases it happens if the victim is subjected to extreme violence of some kind, or if they witness extreme violence. Murder, torture, rape. Something like this would cause a drastic shift in behavior, as well, so even if you weren't aware of the trauma as such, you would undoubtedly have noticed a shift in your son's behavior in its aftermath."

Henry drew a deep breath, then he turned towards Shawn. "I need to speak to Dr. Wilson alone."

Shawn's eyes widened and he paled at those words. "What? No! If this has to do with me, I want to hear it."

Henry shook his head. "No, Shawn. I want to talk to your doctor alone first."

"No way. I have a right to know."

Henry got up from his chair and left the examination room without another word, leaving the door open for Dr. Wilson to follow. Shawn protested vehemently, but after a short moment Wilson gestured for him to wait a second and followed Henry outside. He closed the door behind himself, crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at Henry.

"I hope you are aware that as your son's physician, I cannot keep secrets from him. Not if this has anything to do with his condition or his treatment."

Henry sighed. "I know that."

"And I hope that you also know that after your reaction, Shawn now knows without a doubt that something serious has happened to him. I just want to point out that I mentioned torture, murder and rape not even a minute ago. You son is already confused enough by his condition, he certainly doesn't need to add to the confusion by wondering whether he was raped recently. He doesn't remember anything, Mr. Spencer. Do I really have to tell you how that fuels the imagination? So how about you tell me what happened, and then we go and inform Shawn of it. Whatever you are about to tell me, I can already tell you that Shawn needs to know it as well."

Henry sighed and ran a hand over his face. "I know that, doctor. I just don't want him to be sitting on an examination table while I tell him. Even if he doesn't remember anything right now, I'd much rather do it at home, and with at least his mother there as well."

"You can do all the explaining at home, and with whomever you like, but I can already tell you that Shawn won't leave my office until he knows what happened."  
Henry sighed, admitting defeat. This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid. But it seems that once more he had been pushed into a corner where he had no other choice but to spill the beans.

"Shawn killed somebody."

Wilson simply nodded. "Premeditated?"

Henry shook his head. "It was an accident. He's a police consultant, and a case he was working on went horribly wrong. He got into a struggle for a gun to save his own life and that of a police detective, and the gun went off."

"How did Shawn react to that?"

Henry sighed. "If you want a detailed description, you will have to ask the detective who was with him at the time. I wasn't there. But from what I know he was in shock. Later he had an episode in the hospital where he was trying to wash blood off his hands even though they were perfectly clean."

"Did he see somebody? A trauma specialist, a psychologist, anybody who tried to work with him through that?"

Henry shook his head. "No. We…we weren't talking much after he was brought to the hospital three weeks ago, but I'm sure he didn't see anybody. He didn't talk about it, either, at least not to my knowledge. As far as I know, his coping mechanism consisted of trying to ignore what happened. He did start doubting whether could still work as a police consultant after that, though."

Wilson nodded slowly and scratched his forehead.

"I would say that the trauma of killing somebody certainly qualifies as a factor in your son's amnesia. I need to talk to Chief Vick again, though. The more I know about what exactly happened and how exactly Shawn reacted, the more I can say about how this possibly affects his memory loss."

"Weren't you saying that this might be the reason why he lost his memory?"

Wilson shrugged. "Yes. But the problem is bigger than that, Mr. Spencer. If his brain is trying to protect Shawn from the trauma of taking a life by blocking out his memories, this also affects his chance of getting his memory back. So far, Shawn shows no signs of getting his memory back. He told me just a few minutes ago that nothing triggered any recognition, neither meeting his family and co-workers, nor seeing the place where he grew up. Of course there is the chance that his memory will start coming back over the next couple of days, but if we're talking about a psychological trauma as a possible cause, then I'm not as confident about that as I was earlier."

"So you're saying his memory might not come back?"

"I'm saying that if his amnesia it at least partly a protective mechanism, it might not come back on its own. _Might_. It can still be triggered back into his consciousness, of course, but a much more active approach would be required to help Shawn. Sitting back and waiting for his memories to come back might not do the trick."

Henry sighed. "So what do you suggest we do?"

"Right now we'll tell Shawn what happened."

Henry took a last look at Wilson, but the doctor was standing in front of the door to the examination room, arms crossed in front of his chest and a determined expression on his face. There was no way the man would let this slide right now. There was no way around telling Shawn what exactly had happened up on that mountain.

Finally, he nodded. "All right."

Wilson opened the door and they went back into the examination room. Shawn was pacing up and down in front of the examination table and looked up with an angry glare as his father and Wilson entered again.

"What is going on here?"

"Please sit down, Shawn."

Shawn turned his glare at the doctor, but he leaned back against the examination table at doctor Wilson's request.

"Your father wants to tell you something."

"I could guess as much, what with all the talking about psychological trauma and the two of you leaving to talk outside alone. I'm thirty years old, for crying out loud, if something happened to me I have a right to know!"  
Wilson nodded. "Of course. I told your father that you need to be informed of it."

Shawn turned his glare back to his father. "So, what happened?"

Henry sighed and sat back down in the chair he had sat in earlier.

"Gus already told you about that case you worked for the police. The one because of which you ended up in the hospital."

Shawn nodded. "Yes. What about it?"

"You and Detective Lassiter ended up being chased through the wilderness by two men who were working together with the jewel thieves that were arrested because of you. One of them caught up with you, and the two of you ended up struggling for his gun." Henry sighed and ran a hand over his face. "The gun discharged and the shot hit that guy. You killed him. It was in self-defense and perfectly justified, but you took it really hard."

Henry watched his son's face at those words. Shawn was watching him attentively, with a slight frown on his face. As Henry told him about the man he killed, a number of expressions briefly flickered across Shawn's face. None of them was an expression of remembering or recognition, but Henry could clearly see the relief that showed on his son's face for a brief moment. Obviously, doctor Wilson had been right about Shawn's imagination running wild after their earlier words.

"I killed somebody?"

Henry nodded. "Yes. It was an accident, but yes. You killed somebody."

Shawn turned towards Wilson. "And you think that might have caused my amnesia?"

"It could be a factor, yes. From the little I've been told about your reaction to the event, you weren't dealing very well with what happened. Sometimes, the brain takes protective measures of its own when we are unable to deal with a traumatic event."

"And that means my memory won't come back on its own?"

"It's too early to say that, Shawn. It's only been a day since your accident, don't forget that. It is entirely possible that your memory starts coming back on its own. However, I already told you that the degree of your amnesia is unusual. And it is unusual that not the smallest bits of your memory have come back so far. I'm not talking about getting big chunks of your memory back at once, but over a course of twenty-four hours, I'd normally expect at least some small things to have come back now. The feeling that you know a place, or somebody's face, anything. According to you that didn't happen."

Shawn shook his head. "And from what you said, it won't happen, either."

"I'm not saying that. But those additional factors require a different approach."

Shawn frowned, his fingers nervously tapping against the fabric of the examination table. "Different approach?"

"Slightly different, a more active approach. Of course I highly recommend that you continue doing exactly what you were told in the hospital – meet the people in your life, go to the places you normally go to, ask questions about your life, look at photographs, all that. I'm not saying that this can't help bring your memory back. But now that I know we're dealing with a psychological trauma as well, I'd strongly suggest that you start working through that, as well. Force your brain to confront the images it has shut out."

Shawn looked less than convinced. "How's that supposed to work?"

"Since you work for the police, my suggestion is that you ask Chief Vick to let you look at the case file. Talk to the detective who was with you and let him tell you exactly how it happened. If possible, go to the place where it happened and walk through it step by step. I'm not an expert on the psychological aspects of all this, but I'd suggest you take a psychologist who specializes in trauma treatment along for that. I can recommend a colleague of mine, and together I'm sure we can work out a course of action."

"Great. More doctors." Shawn looked less than enthusiastic about the prospect.

"If it helps you getting your memory back." Wilson said dryly.

"All right, back to the initial reason why you were asked to see me. I will contact Chief Vick again. Your current condition is a definite medical reason to postpone the trial you were supposed to testify in. I will file the necessary paperwork with the DA and the judge."

Henry breathed a silent sigh of relief. Of course the most important thing right now was to help Shawn getting his memory back, but it was good to know that four criminals were not going to get off due to a technicality.

They said their goodbyes to Dr. Wilson who promised to contact a colleague and get back to them with suggestions for Shawn's further treatment. It was already getting dark outside as they got into the truck and started to drive back towards the house. Shawn was silently staring at the road ahead, and after a few minutes Henry felt the need to break that silence.

"How are you feeling?"

Shawn gave a mirthless laugh. "I'm just brilliant, really. I killed somebody, no big deal. I mean, I'm sure it happens to everybody once in a while, I'll get over it. Besides, it's not as if I remember it, anyway. Thanks for not telling me."

The sarcasm in his son's words was biting, but Henry forced his own temper down. "Shawn, it's only been a day since your accident. What was I supposed to say? _Hello Shawn, I'm your Dad, oh and before I forget, three weeks ago you killed somebody._"

"That would have been difficult since you didn't say _Hello Shawn, I'm your Dad_ in the first place! You wordlessly stormed out of the hospital room, if you care to remember."

Henry sighed, not really knowing what to say. Shawn was right, of course. Not that he'd ever tell the kid that. But he was right, and there was nothing Henry could say to that. He had apologized already, though, and he had no desire to go over his behavior of the previous day again.

"Is there anything else about me that you might want to add, now that we're already talking about my darker side? Do I make a habit of killing people? Do I steal sweets from children on a regular basis? Am I divorced multiple times and don't pay my alimonies?"

Henry had to stop the corners of his mouth from tugging upwards, despite the fact that he didn't really feel like laughing. "No on all accounts. Though I wouldn't put it past you to start bargaining about pineapple-related sweets if it came down to it, even if it was with a kid. But to the best of my knowledge you never killed somebody, you were never married and you don't have any kids to pay alimonies for."

Shawn seemed a little pacified after that. "So what do we do now?"

Henry shrugged and stopped the truck at a red light. "We go home, eat dinner, go get some sleep. Tomorrow, we'll talk to Karen again, and you can go to the police station. But I think this was enough excitement for one day."  
"Can't I stay at my place?"

Henry shook his head firmly. The lights turned green and he continued driving. "No chance, kid. The doctor said you shouldn't be alone for a few days. For tonight at least you're staying at the house. If you want to stay somewhere else, you can talk about it to Gus tomorrow. But you're not going to stay alone at your apartment for the next couple of days."

Shawn sighed and leaned back in his seat. They spent the rest of the drive in silence. By the time they arrived at the house, it was completely dark.

Margaret had prepared dinner while they had been away, and Shawn wordlessly sat down at the kitchen table and started poking around in his food without any real appetite. Henry didn't bring down much either, but for entirely different reasons.

This whole situation was too surreal. The last time they had sat like that, him, Shawn and Margaret eating dinner in the kitchen, had been over fifteen years ago. It was a disconcerting feeling to come home and find that Margaret had prepared dinner for them. It was a thing from the past, something Henry had thought would never happen again.

He just didn't feel comfortable. This was his house now. It hadn't been Margaret's house or their house in over a decade. It was _his_ house, and it was _his_ kitchen. The thought of Margaret rummaging through cupboards and pulling out pots and pans was a violation. All right, that was too harsh a word. After all she was no burglar. But during the years after their divorce, Henry had carefully defined some mental barriers around Margaret's role in his life.

She was Shawn's mother.

That was the only role he was still willing to grant her. She was Shawn's mother, and in fact Shawn was the only good thing that had come out of their marriage.

But that was all he was willing to allow Margaret to be in his life. Shawn's mother. The time when she had been his wife, his friend and lover were over. Long over. It had taken a lot of effort to put all that behind him, and it had been a painful process. Henry wasn't willing to let the past rear its ugly head again.

But with every moment Margaret stayed in his life, all those carefully constructed walls came crumbling down further.

Henry didn't know how to deal with that. He kept telling himself that this was about Shawn and not about them, but it wasn't that easy. Especially because this was about Shawn, they were struggling hard to keep their personal interactions polite and friendly. Considering that Henry would much rather poke himself with a red-hot iron than to be on the receiving end of another telling-off by Gus, it wasn't even a struggle. He could stay polite with Margaret for as long as they didn't talk about anything personal.

The problem was that the longer he and Margaret were forced to interact like that, the more uncomfortable Henry felt. There was a reason why Margaret was no longer a part of Henry's life, and part of that reason was that their relationship didn't have much basis left for being polite and friendly with each other.

Dinner was a silent affair, and afterwards Shawn quickly excused himself with the excuse that he was tired. It had been a long and exhausting day, Henry admitted that, but somehow he doubted that this was the only reason why Shawn was desperate to get away. He had a lot to think about, after all. Henry couldn't begrudge Shawn for wanting to put some distance between them to have some time alone for thinking.

Henry did the dishes, and when he came back into the living room he found Margaret sitting on the sofa, looking through old photo albums.

Henry sat down beside her.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at old pictures. You still keep the albums in the shelf, I thought it was okay to get them out."

Henry nearly chuckled. "You rummaged through my papers yesterday, Margaret. After that I didn't think you'd have any reservations about pulling a photo album out of the shelf."

Margaret ignored the slight hint of annoyance in her ex-husband's voice. "I thought Shawn might want to see some of those tomorrow. It might help him remember."

"Dr. Wilson thinks that the fact that Shawn shot somebody is the cause of his amnesia. That it's a protective mechanism, and that his memory might not come back that easily."

Margaret put the album down and looked at Henry with a frown. "Does that mean his memory might not come back at all?"

Henry shrugged. "I don't know. He wants to consult with a psychologist, and figure out a way for Shawn to work though the trauma. I guess we'll know more tomorrow."

Margaret sighed deeply. "Why does this have to happen to Shawn?"

Henry didn't want to have a discussion that started like this. He had seen all the ugliness in life during his time as a cop, and he had heard those words too often from the family members of the victims. He didn't want to have a discussion that started like this about his own son.

"I don't know, Margaret. But he'll get through this."

"I wish I could share your optimism."

It wasn't optimism. It had been an empty platitude which Henry had tossed her way to stop the discussion about the greater reason behind all this. But Margaret didn't seem to be aware of that. She leaned back against the sofa and started picking at a loose thread on the hem of her blouse for a moment.

"Now that Shawn is sleeping in his old bedroom, what are we going to do? I guess you didn't add a guestroom since the last time I was here."

Henry hadn't even thought about that so far. "And I guess you didn't take the hint yesterday about looking for a hotel."

Margaret drew a breath to reply something sharp to that, but Henry only shook his head. "It's all right, Margaret. You can take the bed, I'll sleep on the sofa."

"You're sure about that?"

Henry shrugged. "It's not like it's the first time."

This time, she let the remark pass without a comment. Margaret got up from the sofa. "Then I'll try and get some sleep. Good night, Henry."

"Good night."

As Margaret vanished up the stairs, Henry picked up the photo album and started looking through it. But he put it down again quickly. His life had gotten confusing enough over the past two days, he certainly didn't need to look at images of his family when they had still been happy to make it even more confusing. He put the album down on the table and went to get another pillow and a blanket. Sleeping on the sofa would be hell for his back, but he figured it would be all right for one night.

Henry had thought that falling asleep would become difficult after everything that had happened. He had barely slept the previous night, but instead had tossed and turned in his motel bed. This night, however, his eyes dropped close quickly after he had found a halfway comfortable position on the sofa.

When he woke up again it was still dark, and he certainly didn't feel as if he had gotten nearly enough sleep. While he was still busy trying to figure out what exactly had woken him up again, suddenly the lights in the kitchen were turned on and Henry could see Shawn stumbling tiredly through the room.

Shawn was wearing boxer shorts and a crumpled t-shirt, and his hair was sticking up at odd angles from sleep. He haphazardly started opening up cupboards until he finally located the cupboard where the cups and glasses were kept.

Henry got up from the sofa and went over into the kitchen.

"Can't sleep?"

Shawn spun around, glass clutched in his hand, and his eyes wide.

"You startled me."

"Sorry. I just heard you rummaging around here."

Shawn frowned and his eyes looked behind Henry at the sofa. The blanket and pillow were obvious signs that Henry hadn't fallen asleep there accidentally before he had the chance to go up and go to bed. The frown deepened as Shawn turned around again and poured himself a glass of water from the tap.

"Did you and Mom have a fight?"

Henry followed Shawn's gaze to the sofa and tried to figure out what Shawn was talking about.

And then he understood.

Damn.

Oh damn.

Henry wanted to slap himself. Right now, he wouldn't mind if somebody knocked him over the head until he lost his memory, too.

How could they have been so stupid?

How could they have forgotten about something so glaringly obvious?

Shawn didn't have a clue that he and Margaret were no longer married. It was such an obvious every-day fact for Henry that he had not spent a single thought on it. But Shawn didn't know. He didn't remember.

Shawn thought his parents were still married.

Crap.

"Erm…Dad?"

The insecure way in which Shawn addressed him made Henry turn his thoughts back to the present. For some reason, though a lot of other things were going through his head at the time, Henry realized that this was the first time since the accident that Shawn had called him Dad.

"Yeah?"

"What is going on here?"

Henry sighed. "Sit down, Shawn."

Shawn sat down at the kitchen table and put the glass of water down in front of him. Henry sat down facing his son and ran a hand over his face to rub away the last remnants of sleep. He definitely wanted to be awake for this conversation.

"Promise that you'll listen to me first."

"Okay."

"Right. I know that you're angry because you have the feeling that we're keeping things from you."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Like the fact that I killed somebody."

Henry sighed. "Yes. Like that. Though we surely would have told you, but right now it's not easy to find the right moments to tell you about things. Maybe we should sit down tomorrow and have a long talk so that something like that doesn't happen again. But erm…well, this really isn't something we were trying to keep from you. It might sound crazy, but I simply forgot that you would not remember it."

"Forgotten about what?"

Henry drew a deep breath. "Your Mom and I are divorced."

"Oh." Shawn's expression was blank, but his thoughts were quite obviously racing. "For how long?"

"About fifteen years now."

"Oh." Shawn reached for his glass and nervously started shifting it around on the tabletop. If there was any feeling obvious on his face, it was confusion. "Fifteen years?" It sounded as if he wanted to make sure he hadn't misunderstood.

Henry nodded. "Fifteen years. Separated for about sixteen years."

Shawn bit his lip. "Then what is Mom doing here? Why isn't she staying at her place?"  
"Because she lives in New Jersey."

"New Jersey? That's…well, that's pretty far away."

Henry nodded. "Yes. She came to Santa Barbara after she got to know about the incident when you ended up in the hospital."

"After I killed somebody, you mean."

Henry nodded, but inwardly he asked himself whether Shawn kept repeating those words in an attempt to make himself believe them. It was obvious that his son was still seeing things from a distance, trying to figure out how he could be capable of taking a life. That was one thing that definitely wouldn't get better once he got his memory back, Henry was sure of that.

"I'm sorry Shawn. We really didn't try to keep this from you. It's just that it's so normal for your mother and me, we didn't even consider it."

Shawn chuckled dryly. "I should have known."

"What do you mean?"

"It was so obvious. I mean, I've been asking myself a few times whether your marriage was still all right. I should have seen it. Neither of you is wearing a wedding ring. You hardly talk to each other, too, you're only talking to me. You don't even look at each other, now that I think about it."

Henry was a little astonished. It was interesting to see that Shawn was still perceptive, that he noticed all those small details he'd normally notice, too. Of course his memory loss should not affect his perceptive abilities, but it seemed that Shawn wasn't even aware of how perceptive he really was. And without that awareness, he seemingly needed an incentive to put his observations into context.

Shawn was looking at him with a raised eyebrow now. "So what is going on between you and _Karen_?"

"Karen?" Henry couldn't believe his ears. "Karen Vick? Chief Karen Vick? Why would you think anything is going on between us at all?"

Shawn shrugged. "You seemed pretty familiar earlier, I thought. And Mom was glaring at her and the other detective while they were here. I just thought there might be something going on."

Shawn's perceptions were definitely running out of context without his memory. Henry chuckled.

"I've known Karen for years. We were partners on the force for a few months when she was a rookie and my usual partner was out of commission with an injury. That's why we call each other by our first names. But there was never anything between us. Karen has been married for quite a few years now, and she has a little daughter. The reason why your mother was glaring – and just for the record, if you consider that glaring you've never seen the real deal – was that she has always had an aversion against the role that police work played in my life. An affair was certainly not why our marriage ended."

"Then what was?"

Henry shrugged. "That's a good question, and I don't think there's a simple answer to it. In the end, we simply couldn't live with each other anymore, at least not without going at each other's throat. I was working too much, and your mother felt that she was missing out on her life because she had to take care of everything at home. You were too old to still need her full attention, and she wasn't content anymore just being a Mom who worked part-time. I didn't see how much that was bothering her and things simply fell apart. We were fighting more often than not, and once we figured out that things weren't going to get better again we filed for a divorce."

It was only a rough description, and it left out a lot of the ugly things that had happened between Margaret and him, but Henry decided to leave it at that. It was the truth, it simply left out the details. If Shawn wanted those, they'd tell him. But for now, Henry figured that it was enough to let his son know what had caused their marriage to end.

It seemed to be enough for Shawn as well. "So is either of you married again?"

Henry shook his head. "I'm not. I'm not in a relationship either. As for your mother, I don't know. I don't think she remarried, but for everything else you'd need to ask her."

Shawn frowned. "You're not talking a lot, are you?"

"No. Actually, before she came here this week, we hadn't talked in over ten years."

"Sounds like things were a lot worse between you than you just said."

Henry shrugged. "There were a lot of hurt feelings. And getting a divorce doesn't mean that we were suddenly getting along well again. Not talking was the preferable alternative to fighting."

Shawn wordlessly stared down at the kitchen table in front of him. Inwardly, Henry prepared himself for another barrage of questions. It wasn't like Shawn to simply back down.

But right now, predicting Shawn's actions by his usual standards just didn't work. There were traces of his usual behavior shining through, but Henry needed to remind himself that right now his son wasn't entirely in control of his behavior.

So instead of asking his father any more questions, Shawn gulped down the remaining water in his glass and got up from his chair. He put the glass into the sink and turned towards the stairs.

"I think I'll just head off to bed again. Good night."

"Good night, kid."

Henry waited until Shawn was upstairs and he heard the door close behind him, then he extinguished the light in the kitchen and felt his way back to the sofa again. He only hoped he'd be able to sleep again.


	9. My Psychic Senses Tell Me That You Don't

**Chapter 9 – ****My psychic senses tell me that you don't really like me.**

"So this is the place."

Shawn took a few careful steps around the room, his eyes roaming over everything within sight, trying to take in all the details.

"Somehow, I imagined it to look differently. More…I don't know. Spooky. No. Tawdry. Chintzy. Well, you know what I mean."

Gus shook his head with a laugh. "More like velvet curtains, robes and crystal balls?"

Shawn took another look around the Psych office, then he let himself sink down in one of the desk chairs – Gus' desk chair, to be precise.

"Yeah." He admitted. "But this actually looks pretty normal, as far as offices go. A bit juvenile, maybe. And this is where we meet our clients and work on our cases?"

Gus nodded and sat down in Shawn's desk chair. They were actually supposed to be on their way to the police station for a visit, but Shawn had insisted that they drop by the office first. So here they were, with Shawn looking around the office as if he was seeing it for the first time. Which was true, in a way.

He was nervously scratching the skin above the cast on his left arm, trying to work a finger under the plaster cast in an attempt to scratch the skin beneath. It had only been two days since he was wearing the cast, but already Gus noticed that this was starting to become a nervous tick. Shawn started scratching along his cast whenever he was nervous, or unsure about something.

Right now, he was obviously nervous about finding out more about his job as a fake psychic private detective. And Gus wasn't too sure that he'd be able to calm those insecurities entirely.

"If we work private cases, our clients come here. If we work for the police, we mostly hang around the station and you try to get a deeper insight into the cases and the investigation than we're normally granted. Or you drag us off to investigate things on our own."

Shawn leaned back in his chair and frowned. Gus knew the expression on his friend's face, it was one he normally had when he was highly discontent with something.

"What's wrong?"

Shawn shrugged uncomfortably. "So when we're working for the police, I have insight into the case files and the crime scenes, and I observe the things that the police miss. That's how I solve my cases."

Gus nodded. "Right."

"And if we work private cases, I do pretty much the same. I observe and pretend to have a psychic vision which explains it all."

"That's also right."

"So basically, I'm cheating."

Gus frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'm cheating. I'm doing something one way, but I'm pretending to do it another way."  
Gus leaned back in his chair and thought about that for a moment. "If you want to put it that way, yes. I wouldn't call that cheating, though."

"I still don't like it."

Gus was taken back by that statement. It was the first time his friend had ever uttered doubts about what he was doing, and about the way he was doing it.

"You don't like what?"

"I don't like that I pretend to be something that I'm not to get the job done. I don't like the idea that I'm lying to everybody on a daily basis."

"What you're doing might be based on a lie, I can't deny that. But even if you're not completely honest about how you do things, you're doing good. You help the police solve cases which wouldn't get solved otherwise. You're finding crimes where they would have put it off as an accident. And you help our private clients to settle matters that are bothering them. So even if you're a fraud, you still get the job done. You're helping people. And you're not hurting anybody with that lie."

Shawn shook his head and stared down at the desk in front of him. "I killed somebody, Gus. You can't say that what I do doesn't hurt anybody after that."

Gus shook his head. "But that doesn't mean that your psychic act is hurting people. Even if you weren't pretending to be a psychic, if you were an ordinary private investigator or a cop, in that situation you'd have done the exact same thing."

"But maybe I wouldn't even have come into this situation if I weren't pretending to be a psychic. Maybe things wouldn't have gone completely out of control that day."

Gus bit his lip as he thought about that. He honestly had no idea what to say to that. It was spooky to hear Shawn say something which might have come out of Henry's mouth. What was even more worrisome was that Shawn started doubting things. Before that day up in the mountains with Lassiter, Shawn had never doubted his pretense to be a psychic. Never just once.

"I don't think it matters whether you're a private investigator or whether you pretend to be a psychic. You are a private investigator, whether or not people know how you get the results that you do. It's what you do, and it's what you're damn good at."

Shawn was still shaking his head. "But that's just it. I mean, if my skills at observing and deducing are really that good, why didn't I become a cop?"

"That would have to do with your father, I think."

Shawn frowned. "But I thought he was a cop."

"Yes, he was. And he wanted you to become one, too."

"And that's what I don't get. If he wanted me to become a cop, and if I'm so good at what it takes to be a cop, why didn't I become a cop? Just to defy him?"

Gus shook his head. "No. Not exclusively, at least, though it might have played a role. You always said that being a cop wasn't what you are."

Shawn chortled. "Oh yes, that's of course a great explanation."

Gus shrugged. "It was always enough for me. You aren't a cop, Shawn, no matter what your Dad did to make you become one. He always thought that all it took was to teach you the skills, but the truth is that you never had the heart to be a cop."

"Why?"

"My personal opinion? You're much too innocent for that. You work crimes because you're great at solving mysteries, at piecing together clues and figuring out the great picture. I see a body and run out of the room to get reacquainted with my lunch, you see a body and see the mystery that needs to be solved. You can keep that distance while working cases as a consultant, but you couldn't hold that up for long as a cop. That day up on the mountain was the first time you touched a gun during more than two years of working cases for the police. Had you become a cop, how long do you think you'd have made it without pulling a gun on somebody? How long before you had to fire a shot at somebody for the first time? That's just now who you are, and that's why you never became a cop. You solve things with your head, not with anything else. Investigating cases the way you do is the only way that you can do it without becoming somebody you aren't."

Shawn leaned back with a frown as he thought about that. Gus only hoped that his friend had understood what he had been trying to say. Once Shawn got his memory back, he'd know. Of course he'd know then, after all he had been the one who had tried to explain it to Gus in the first place.

Finally, Shawn looked back up, the frown still etched onto his face.

"I don't get it. I don't get what all the fuss is about. So I'm obviously good at noticing things because my Dad taught me how to do it. And that's good enough to justify downright lying to people?"

Gus sighed. In fact, when Shawn had first pretended to be a psychic, he had asked himself the exact same question. Did Shawn's abilities justify lying and pretending to be something he wasn't? But over the past two years he had learned that the psychic lie wasn't what stood in the foreground. Yes, Shawn wasn't being honest about how he got the information he needed to solve cases. But he did solve the cases, and he didn't break the law getting it. Well, he hardly ever broke the law. And he never did something that could possibly harm somebody else. Oh, he did plenty of things that could get him or Gus arrested, or fired, and too often he relied on his quick mind and silver tongue to get out of tight spots. But he never deliberately put anybody else at risk. And Gus was sure that Shawn would not act any differently if he was working as a 'normal' private investigator. That was why he had learned to accept the lie about being a psychic – because it simply wasn't important.

But how could he possibly make Shawn understand that solving crimes was simply what he did? That he couldn't help but notice things that didn't add up, and that he had in fact solved crimes for the police long before his psychic charade had begun?

Maybe the only way to make him understand was to make him aware of just how unusual the workings of his mind were.

"How many red lights did we have on our way here?"

Shawn frowned. "What?"

"How many red lights did we stop at during the drive here?"

Shawn shook his head, clearly confused. "Two, but why are you asking?"

"Just humor me. Two red lights. How many green lights?"

"Four."

"The two red lights we stopped at, what cars were crossing the intersection from the right?"

Shawn thought for a moment. "A white Toyota at the first intersection, then a red Jeep. None at the second red light, all the traffic was coming from the left."

"And how many coffee shops did we pass on our way here?"

"Three. One had a special daily offer of pineapple scones, maybe we should drop by there later. But would you explain to me what all this is about?"

"It's the answer to your question what all the fuss is about. It doesn't answer whether it justifies pretending to be something you're not, but it should explain to you why everybody is talking about your skills of observation and your memory."

"Because I knew how many red lights we stopped at, and how many coffee shops there were? Come on, that's not really a big deal. It's normal."

"It is a big deal Shawn, but you don't even realize it. It's a big deal because it is _not_ normal. _I_ drove here, _I_ was the one who stopped at the red lights, but I couldn't remember all this. When I stop at a red light, I have all but forgotten about it ten minutes later. When you stop at a red light, you notice all the cars coming from each direction, you notice whether or not the driver in the car behind you has his seat belt on, and you can tell that the granny who is crossing the intersection in front of you had a hip surgery recently. You notice details nobody else does, and you don't forget them. It's not only that you notice all these things, but also that you never forget anything." Gus sighed. "It's actually pretty ironic that normally you never forget anything and now you've forgotten everything."

"Please stop, my side hurts from laughing."

Gus sobered immediately. "I'm sorry. It's definitely not amusing, but it is ironic. And if you want to understand why you're doing what you're doing, you need to accept that your mind doesn't work like everybody else's."

"That sounds encouraging. I'm a fake psychic whose mind is not working quite right. With all the things I'm getting to know, I'm no longer sure that I want to remember."

Gus shook his head. "I never said that your mind isn't working right. It's just working differently than everybody else's. It sets you apart, and while that's not always a good thing, that is exactly what makes you such a good investigator. You can't help but notice all the things everybody else keeps missing."

"What do you mean, it's not always a good thing?"

Gus sighed. "For you, all this is normal. It's not even a conscious effort for you to notice these things. You still do it now, even if you don't remember anything about yourself. But that doesn't always make it easy to understand you. I often have the feeling that I'm two steps behind and will never catch up because I'm missing some crucial pieces in the puzzle. And you always have trouble understanding why you're the only one who notices these things. It's normal for you, but it's not normal for everybody else. It's difficult at times."  
Shawn sighed deeply. "So in fact, nobody understands me."

"Nobody really understands how your mind works, that's a difference. At least I don't, and your father doesn't either, even though he's the one who trained you. You're different from everybody, and it also made you a bit lonely. You always had a lot of friends, but your mind always set you apart from all of them. There's always been this essential part of you that nobody, not even your friends, was able to understand. Even more so since you never went around and told everybody about your abilities. In a way, pretending to be a psychic was therapeutic for you. You can finally use your abilities to the fullest without having to explain yourself about something most people don't understand, anyway."

Gus shrugged awkwardly. "What I'm trying to say is that yes, that whole psychic thing is a lie you go by. But the fact that you're lying doesn't make you a bad person. You're just a guy with unique abilities who finally found a niche for himself. In my book, that's not a bad thing."

Shawn shrugged. "I don't know. I'm still not entirely sure that I like everything I get to know about myself."

"Honestly Shawn, I doubt any of us would. If I were in your situation, I don't know if I'd like everything there's to know about me, either. But that still doesn't make you a bad person."

Shawn shook his head and got up from his chair. "How about we just go to the police station. I'm curious to see what the place is like."

He turned and left the office, and Gus had no choice but to follow. He wasn't too sure that Shawn understood fully what he had tried to tell him about the workings of his mind. But then again, Shawn had never been able to really understand that other people weren't able to work on the same mental level that he worked on, either. But before he had lost his memory, at least Shawn had been comfortable with himself, and he had known where he stood. The fact that this seemed to change now was worrying Gus more than he cared to admit.

It was high time that Shawn somehow managed to get his memory back before he started doubting everything about himself and his life.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

A lot of people were staring at him.

That was the first thing Shawn noticed as Gus led their way into the police station. He was looking around, trying to figure out whether anything about this place seemed familiar to him, but the brutal truth was that nothing did.

There were a lot of people in the station, most of them cops on their way here or there, and Shawn had the feeling that they were all staring at him.

It was safe to assume that if he was working here, they knew him. Most of them, anyway. Some of them nodded in greeting, to which Shawn nodded in response. But they were also staring as if there was something off about him. Shawn wondered whether everybody here knew that he had lost his memory. Or maybe that was their normal reaction to him. After all, he'd be a bit skeptical around somebody claiming to be a psychic, too.

Or maybe it was because of how he looked. His face was still badly scratched, after all. And his left arm was in a cast up to his elbow. If the other cops didn't know what had happened to him, maybe that was the reason for their stares.

There were just too many damn questions, and he simply didn't know enough to figure out all the answers on his own.

So far, Shawn had always been around only few people at one time, and he had been introduced to them and had known that they were aware of his problem. But this was a tad bit overwhelming, and he didn't know where to look first.

And it was awfully warm in here. It wasn't exactly hot outside, but it was definitely turning out to be a really warm day. Obviously, somebody had forgotten to turn on the air conditioning this morning.

Gus led their way after they had passed the reception desk, and Shawn decided it might be a good idea not to lose his friend from sight. He didn't particularly want to face the embarrassment of getting lost inside a police station.

Gus rounded a corner, and in an attempt at not losing him from sight for too long Shawn quickened his steps to follow him. He hurried around the corner and nearly slammed frontally into a man walking into the other direction. Shawn quickly sidestepped and pivoted slightly to avoid a collision, and the man stopped abruptly and swayed slightly as he tried to keep his balance.

The guy Shawn had run into clearly was no cop, but a maintenance worker. He was wearing loose overalls with the logo of a repair-service on the back, there was a tool-belt around his waist and he was carrying a ladder. That would be the explanation as to why it was so warm in here. Obviously the air conditioning wasn't working properly.

"I'm sorry about that." Shawn said.

The man only shrugged and grunted something noncommittally as he pushed up the sleeves of his overalls and readjusted his grip on the ladder. He shouldered the ladder again and a moment later he had vanished around the corner and from Shawn's sight.

"Shawn!"

Shawn turned and found Gus waiting for him in front of an office door. He quickly jogged over towards him.

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing, I just nearly slammed into that maintenance guy."

Gus nodded. "It is awfully warm in here." He stretched out a hand and knocked on the door. It didn't take astute observation skills to figure out that this was the Chief's office, her name on the door was a pretty good indication for that.

"Enter!"

Gus opened the door and the two of them walked into the office. Shawn looked around curiously. It was actually a nice office, as far as offices in a police station could possibly go. Of course there were the obvious file cabinets standing around everywhere, but the colors were warm, and there were small touches all over the room that made it more comfortable. The sofa, for one. Pictures of a toddler on the cabinet beside the window. A framed art imprint on the wall. A glass fish on the desktop, though Shawn wasn't too sure about that. It actually looked a little strange, but there was no accounting for taste.

Chief Vick was sitting in the chair behind her desk, a file folder in front of her. A man was occupying one of the visitor chairs, watching them closely as they entered but not making any move to get up or to greet them.

"Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster. Good of you to finally join us."

Shawn looked at the Chief with a frown, but then he realized that she had probably been expecting them a little earlier. Their detour to the Psych office had kept them.

"I'm sorry, Chief. We got a little caught up in something."

Vick frowned, but she gestured towards the two remaining visitor chairs without another word. Shawn hesitantly went over towards the one next to the other man. The man had not made any move to leave the room, so maybe he was supposed to be here. But Shawn couldn't venture a guess as to who the man was. Besides, it might be better if he refrained from guessing about things in the near future. He had been pretty wrong about his Dad and the Chief being more than just acquaintances, after all.

Chief Vick gestured towards the man.

"Mr. Spencer, this is Detective Carlton Lassiter. He's the head detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department, and you have worked with him on cases before. I asked Detective Lassiter to be here because Dr. Wilson called me about it. He thinks it might help you remember if you work through the file of that incident three weeks ago. Detective Lassiter was also there when it happened."

Shawn turned towards Lassiter and stretched out his hand.

"Nice to meet you, detective."

Lassiter raised an eyebrow and regarded Shawn for a long moment, as if trying to judge whether he was being made fun of or not. Then he bent forward awkwardly and shook Shawn's hand for a brief moment.

But he didn't say a word.

Well, now that was odd.

Although there were a lot of odd things about detective Lassiter, come to think of it. He was dressed sharp, just like one would expect a head detective as a role model for the younger detectives to look like. Dark suit, the creases impeccable. A shirt without a single wrinkle in sight, his tie fitting both the suit and the shirt, the knot tight and perfectly adjusted, and his shoes polished and without a scuff or scratch.

But something was not right.

Lassiter's left wrist was in a cast, for one thing. Vick had told Shawn that both he and detective Lassiter had been injured during whatever had gone down before he had killed that man, so maybe that cast was still a result of that. And the way he had bent forward to shake Shawn's hand had also been awkward, as if he was careful about moving certain parts of his body. His ribs maybe, or his shoulder.

But what confused Shawn most was that the head detective of the department was carrying neither badge nor gun. Even if he was still confined to desk duty due to his injuries, he should be wearing both. Shawn didn't know where that knowledge about police procedures came from, but he decided to simply accept it, just like the knowledge that he liked pineapple. It wasn't a memory floating back, no need to get excited about it.

And then there was the glaring.

Shawn wasn't sure why, but detective Lassiter was glaring at him. It didn't take a genius to guess that somehow, Lassiter didn't particularly like him. Shawn of course had absolutely no idea what their relationship was like. He only knew that he called the man 'Lassie', and that Lassiter didn't particularly like that. Well, looking at him now, Shawn had absolutely no doubt as to that fact. He didn't look like the kind of guy who was particularly keen on being called any form of nicknames. Shawn wondered why Lassiter still let Shawn call him Lassie, though. If he truly hated it that much, he didn't look like the type to hesitate to do something against it. Like shooting him.

Well, maybe there was the explanation why the man wasn't wearing a gun.

Chief Vick interrupted Shawn in his thoughts. "I have the case file on the jewel theft here. In there is all the information on the case and on everything that happened, including your official statement. Detective Lassiter can help fill any gaps that might still remain. You can use my office. I need to go and check how long it's going to take until the air condition is working again. It's starting to get unbearably stuffy in here."

She got up from her chair and left the office. As the door closed behind her, Shawn turned towards Gus.

"Maybe we should try opening a window? I know it sounds pretty old-fashioned, but it might just work."

"This is a police station, Spencer. A place where a lot of criminals pass through every day. The windows aren't bound to open, it would contradict the whole concept of trying to keep the criminals locked up."

Shawn turned towards Lassiter as the detective spat out those acid words.

Yes, something was definitely going on between the two of them, but he had absolutely no idea where all the venom came from.

But he didn't say anything, instead Shawn turned back towards the desk and picked up the file Chief Vick had left for them.  
"So everything that happened during that case is in here? And I can read it, just like that? No top secret stuff?"

Lassiter rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, there's nothing in there you aren't allowed to read. And now go ahead and read the damned thing, I don't have all day to sit here and wait for your questions."

Again, Shawn was taken aback by the tone of Lassiter's voice, but without his memory of what had gone down between them Shawn decided that it was not a wise idea to start a conversation about that now. Instead, he flipped open the file and started to read.

Whatever Dr. Wilson had thought reading the file would do to him, Shawn doubted that it was working.

There were a lot of dry reports on the jewel theft, the scene of the crime and the pieces of evidence collected. The second part of the file contained both Lassiter's and his own statement of what had happened after Shawn had called the detective and had asked him to come to that warehouse.

Shawn immediately understood his conclusions that had led him to the warehouse, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that judged from what was in those reports, Lassiter had just gone into that warehouse on Shawn's word, without calling for backup.

Didn't exactly sound like a smart idea, especially not if Shawn considered that Lassiter believed him to be a psychic. What kind of detective followed the word of a psychic blindly, without questioning and without making sure that somebody was there to watch his back? It didn't sound like the world's best idea.

It didn't take Shawn long to read through both their accounts of what had happened. Lassiter's report was short and precise, just like Shawn would have expected the witness account of a police detective to sound like. His own account of the events was surprisingly detailed. Being told about his astute skills at observation was one thing, reading about it was something entirely different. Lassiter's report had been precise, but his own filled gaps in Lassiter's report which he hadn't even realized were there.

But even as Shawn read his own statement about how he had shot that man, it didn't bring back any memories. None at all. It was as if he was reading something that had happened to another person, and he didn't even recognize the words as his own.

Lassiter had been down, that guy – Herbert Flanders, also called Herb – had been highly unstable and threatening to kill them. Shawn had gone for his gun, they had struggled, the movement of their struggle had led to the gun discharging and Herb had ended up with a shot through the lower chest that had killed him almost immediately.

Self-defense.

An accident.

All right, it didn't sound as if it was something he'd want to do every weekend, or ever again for that matter, but if this was the trauma that caused his mind to withhold memories, Shawn didn't understand it. Killing somebody had to be bad, right now he could only imagine just how bad one had to be feeling about it, but it had been an accident. It hadn't been premeditated murder, after all. It had been a bad solution to an awful situation, but in that situation it had been the only way for Lassiter and him to make it out alive. They had barely made it as it was. He just didn't understand it.

With a frown etched onto his face, Shawn started sifting through the crime scene photos. A small clearing somewhere in the woods, the grass and plants trampled in places. A close-up shot of the body in situ, lying on the ground and staring up at the sky, his shirt saturated with blood in the front. Close-up shots of the gun lying on the ground, its barrel and handle also covered in blood. More pictures of small details which the police had found in the clearing. Pictures of shards of a broken window on a gravel road, probably stemming from the truck. Pictures of the truck on the emergency lane of the highway, its back window shot out. Bloodstains on the passenger seat, close-up shots of the steering wheel that despite its dark color clearly was also stained with blood.

Shawn looked through the pictures once, twice, then he put them back into the file, closed it and put it back on Vick's desk.

"Do you have any questions, Spencer?"

Shawn turned towards the detective beside him upon those words. Lassiter was looking straight at him with his eyes narrowed and the expression on his face impatient.

"They never found the second guy?"

Lassiter's eyes narrowed even further. "No. Otherwise I am sure the report of his arrest would have been put into this file. And I didn't mean whether you have any questions about the case, I meant whether you have any questions that might help you get your memory back. I didn't come here because I want to talk shop with you, I came here because the Chief said it might be aiding your memory. So do you have any questions?"  
In fact, Shawn had a number of questions. The first one on his mind was _why don't you like me_, but he swallowed it down. In a way, Lassiter was right. He wasn't here to solve this case. He already had, obviously. He was here to try and remember.

The only problem was that he didn't remember anything.

Despite seeing the file and the photos, Shawn didn't remember being brought to that hut, their escape and fall down the slope, their run down the mountain, or those minutes when they had been caught which had ended with him shooting that man. He simply didn't remember.

"Spencer, I don't have all day."

"I'm sorry, detective." Shawn drew a deep breath and started worrying the skin beneath his cast with his uninjured hand.

"I just don't know what I'm supposed to ask you. It's all in those reports, and even if something was missing, I wouldn't know. I don't remember any of this, and I don't recognize anything from the pictures, either. I know what went down now, but I don't remember it. No matter what questions I could ask you now, I don't think any would make me remember." He sighed and forced himself to stop scratching at the skin around his cast.

"I'm sorry that you had to stay here for this, detective. But somehow I doubt that Dr. Wilson was right and this has anything to do with my amnesia. From what's in this report, it was an accident. I didn't want to shoot that man, and going for his gun was our only chance at getting out there alive. I guess it was hard, but I don't think it was that much of a trauma."

Lassiter started to smirk. It gave Shawn a strangely uncomfortable feeling to see that expression on the detective's face.

"What?"

"Spencer, you had the body of a man lying on top of you while he died. His blood was all over you. As soon as we rolled him off you, you started retching and didn't stop. After we were finally out of there, you were in shock. Totally catatonic. So don't tell me it wasn't much of a trauma. If your neurologist says your amnesia might have to do with a psychological trauma, I'm sure what happened up on that mountain qualifies."

Shawn shook his head and gave the file a push with his finger so that it slid further along the Chief's desk.

"Even if that's the case, I still don't remember. I don't remember anything in that file. Not the tiniest detail. So I'm sorry that you wasted your time. We'd better get going."

Shawn got up from his chair and started to walk over towards the door. He heard Gus' chair scrape along the floor as his friend got up as well. Shawn had nearly reached the door when he heard Lassiter's voice again.

"Spencer, wait."

Shawn turned around to the detective, who was still sitting in the chair in front of Vick's desk.

"What is it?"

"The Chief said if this doesn't help bring back your memories, your neurologist wants to reenact the whole scene on location."

Shawn nodded. "Yes, he told me that. I…I'm not really sure about that. That it will help any, I mean. I don't think you need to bother taking the time for that. If looking at the file won't help, looking at a clearing in the woods won't help me either. It's been three weeks ago, what should there be left to see?"

Lassiter raised an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "I wish you good luck trying to tell that to the Chief. She ordered me to cooperate fully with whatever course of treatment your neurologist suggested. So if she tells me to come for a reenactment, I will be there."

Shawn didn't think the Chief of police and his doctor were in any position to tell him what to do and what not. He was thirty years old, why did everybody always seem to forget that?

But that wasn't Lassiter's fault. He was only following orders, after all. Shawn shrugged awkwardly.

"We'll see. Goodbye detective."

Shawn left the office, Gus following closely behind.

"You really didn't remember anything?"

Shawn stopped and turned back towards Gus. "Don't you think that if I had, I'd have said something?"

Gus took a step back and raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "All right, I'm sorry."

Shawn ran his uninjured hand through his hair and sighed. "No, I'm sorry. It's just that everybody is always asking me if I'm sure that I don't remember. I'd think I'd be the first to know if any of my memory had returned. I'm not trying to keep anything from you."

"It's just not easy." Gus admitted. "We're all hoping that your memory will come back, and we keep trying to think up ways to help you remember. It's simply frustrating that nothing seems to work."

"Tell me about it."

Shawn didn't want to admit it, but the fact that nothing had helped him remember so far scared him. Meeting his family hadn't helped, seeing his hometown, his childhood home, the place where he worked, nothing. Not even seeing the pictures of the murder scene had helped any, and Dr. Wilson had seemed convinced that it should do the trick.

He tried to tell himself that it had only been two days, but as far as he was concerned, that were forty-eight hours too long. Especially since nothing at all had happened. Nothing, not the tiniest bit of recollection.

Slowly, Shawn was getting scared what would happen if his memory wouldn't come back. What would happen if he'd forever remain unable to remember the first thirty years of his life? He'd have to learn everything about himself again, and about the people in his life, and still it would never be the same.

The thought that this might actually be a possibility scared Shawn more than he'd ever admit.

And it wasn't as if there was anybody around that he could talk to. Of course, there were his parents, and there was Gus. His family and his closest friend. Shawn guessed that if he wanted to talk, they'd be willing to listen. But no matter how much they cared, and how much they tried to help him, they were all strangers to him.

Shawn sighed again. "Come on, let's go and grab some lunch."

Gus nodded and the two started walking down the corridor that would lead them out of the station.

On their way, the young detective that had visited his father's house together with Chief Vick came walking towards them. She was carrying a stack of folders and it took her a moment to notice them. When she did, she smiled widely at them both.

"Gus. Shawn. That's a nice surprise. What are you going here?"

"Trying and failing to jog my memory, Detective O'Hara."

Juliet frowned. "Shawn, I'm sorry."

Shawn shrugged and put some false cheer into his voice. "That's all right. Sooner or later it has to come back."

Juliet smiled, though the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "And by the way Shawn, you never call me Detective O'Hara."

"No?"

"No. You call me Juliet. Well, mostly you just call me Jules."

"Jules." Shawn tried out the name, then glanced up at her again. "And you like that?"

Juliet frowned. "Why shouldn't I?"

Shawn shrugged awkwardly. "Well, obviously I make a habit of calling detective Lassiter 'Lassie', and everybody tells me that he hates it."

Juliet smiled. "Believe me, if I wanted you to stop calling me Jules, I'd have made you stop. But no matter if you call me Juliet or Jules, there's no need to call me Detective O'Hara."

"Okay. Listen Juliet, we were just about to go grab some lunch. Do you want to come along?"  
Juliet grimaced. "I'd love to, but I'm swamped with work. I think the amount of paperwork I need to get done has doubled since Lassiter is on suspension. And it's not helping that the air condition isn't working." She gestured towards the stack of folders in her hand. "I'd better get back to that. But maybe later this week."

"Sure thing. Bye Det…Juliet."

"Bye."

Juliet flashed them another smile, then she continued carrying her files over towards her desk. Shawn made sure that there was nobody around to overhear them, then he grabbed Gus' arm and dragged him along the corridor towards the exit.

"What did she mean, Lassiter is on suspension? I figured he was still on medical leave when I saw that he didn't carry a badge and gun."

Gus shook his head. "No, he's been cleared for desk duty a few days ago. But…well, let's just say that he made a judgment call the Chief didn't agree with. And now he's on a two week suspension."

Shawn heard from the tone of Gus' voice that this wasn't all there was to it. "What judgment call?"

"Going into that warehouse without backup."

Shawn stopped abruptly. "Does that mean he's on suspension because he believed what I said?"

Gus shook his head. "No. That means he's on suspension because he didn't take what you said serious enough to call for backup as he should have. It was his decision, not yours."

"Well, it seems that he's still bearing me a grudge for that."

"You mean because he wasn't exactly nice to you? Shawn, that's his normal way of talking to you. Better get used to it."

Shawn couldn't believe what he was hearing. "He's talking to me like that all the time?"

"Not all the time. But whenever he feels you're annoying him. Which is pretty much every time, but not always."  
Shawn rolled his eyes. "Now that's a great explanation."

Gus shrugged. "Nobody can be loved by everybody. Besides, he's gotten kinda used to having you around, a lot of it is just acting out of habit. So what about that lunch now?"

"Sure, let's go find something to eat."

But even as they left the station at the exact moment that the air condition started working again with an audible _whump _and an accompanying sigh or relief from more than just one officer at the station, Shawn couldn't help the feeling that detective Lassiter wasn't the only one who didn't quite like Shawn Spencer. With every little piece he discovered about his life, Shawn found himself asking more and more often whether he liked the Shawn Spencer he was slowly getting to know. The jury was still out on that one, but he wasn't entirely sure.


	10. There's no 'I' in Team

**Chapter 10 – ****There's no 'I' in 'Team' and no 'Us' in 'Marriage'**

They had been fighting.

It shouldn't surprise him that they had. They always ended up fighting. Why should that have changed just because they hadn't seen each other in over ten years?

They could hold it together pretty well whenever Shawn was around, though it took some effort. But Shawn had left for the police station this morning, and that had left Henry and Margaret alone in the house, with nothing to do.

There was a reason why they had gotten a divorce. Part of that reason was that they couldn't stay in a room together for long without getting into a fight.

So actually he should have known that this could not end well.

And it hadn't.

He shouldn't be surprised that they had ended up fighting.

And he wasn't.

But seriously.

They had gotten into a fight over the dishes, on top of all things. The dishes! How ridiculous was that?

Margaret had volunteered to do the dishes from breakfast while Henry went out for some groceries. And when he had come back, his kitchen had been in disarray.

It was ridiculous, really, since he had never really changed the order of things in the kitchen even after Margaret had moved out. Why should he change a system he was used to? So Margaret should have known where the things belonged because they still belonged in the same damn places they had always been in. But still she had managed to put nearly everything into the wrong place.

Henry hadn't even gotten angry about it. He had simply put things back again and had told her to ask the next time before she put something away.

He still didn't know how it had exploded.

But it had gone downhill from there pretty quickly.

One moment they had been talking about the dishes, the next they had been yelling at each other at a volume that must have had the neighbors wondering whether they had just dropped back sixteen years in time.

And it hadn't been about the stupid dishes at all, neither for him nor for Margaret. The dishes only had been an easy excuse. It had been about them, and about how unable they were to deal with this whole story; it had been about their divorce and the fact that Henry had told Shawn about it without Margaret being there; it had been about all this and not really about it at all.

Worst thing was that Henry didn't even want to yell at Margaret. He wasn't angry at her. He wasn't really angry at all. Try frustrated. That worked. Frustrated, and unable to deal with the fact that Shawn no longer remembered anything and it didn't exactly made their daily interactions any easier. And they weren't easy to begin with, at least not for Henry. He didn't know how to deal with anything and anybody right now.

He knew he was letting that out on Margaret, and that it was unfair. But yelling at Margaret was an easy reflex. It was something he knew how to deal with. Unlike everything else in his life right now, this was something he knew. He was a little out of practice, but it was like riding a bicycle. It was something you just didn't ever unlearn.

But he couldn't just leave it at that. Sooner or later he'd have to bite the bullet and start talking to Margaret again. Shawn would be home later in the day, and after last night's revelations he certainly didn't need to come home to find the two of them locked in another attempt to out-yell each other. He already had had enough of that during his teenage years to last him a lifetime.

Margaret had stormed out of the house after their fight, and now she was standing on the porch, leaning against the railing and staring at the ocean in the distance behind the garden. Henry poured two cups of coffee and carried them out onto the porch.

Margaret must have heard the door slide as it opened, but she didn't move from her position as Henry approached her. Only when he came to a stop directly beside her and held the cup of coffee out to her did she look up.

"What's that?"

"A peace offering."

Margaret didn't make any move to take her arms off their resting place on the porch railing to reach for the coffee. Instead she turned back to look at the ocean.

"A peace offering for the past fifteen to twenty years?"

Henry smiled and shook his head. "I don't have any mugs of that size. I thought I'd just start with today. And if you don't take the cup soon, I'm going to burn my fingers."

Margaret turned and finally stretched out her hand to take one of the coffee cups.

"Thanks."

She took a sip and leaned back against the railing, her gaze once more staying out towards the ocean. Henry leaned against the railing beside her. It was Margaret who finally broke the silence.

"I'm sorry about earlier. It's just all so frustrating right now, and when you started ranting about those stupid dishes, I simply lost it."

"Yeah, me too. I don't really like falling back into old habits, though."

Margaret chuckled mirthlessly. "We were always at our best when we were fighting."

She shook her head and took another sip of her coffee. For a few moments they silently stared ahead at the distant ocean.

"I was thinking about what Gus said."

Henry put his own cup down onto the porch railing and turned his head to look at his ex-wife. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what he said that day when he gave us the telling off of the century. That little scene we had earlier was nothing compared to the fights we had before our divorce. And if we're honest, we didn't exactly always consider whether or not Shawn could hear us."

_Not exactly always_ was a nice understatement. When the first cracks had appeared in their marriage, during those first really serious fights that they had had, they had still been concerned about whether or not Shawn could hear them. But as time passed by and living together more and more proved to be an impossible situation, whether or not Shawn had been in the house, or even in the same room, had hardly ever mattered.

If there was one thing Henry could change about his marriage, it was that. It had ended ugly, but that had been their cross to bear. There really had been no need for Shawn to witness it, much less get dragged into it on a regular basis. But Gus was right, they had been far too concerned with themselves, and far too little concerned with their son.

"Do you think he was telling the truth? About how often Shawn snuck out and slept over at his place so that he didn't have to hear us fight?"

Henry nodded. "I'm afraid he was. If there's anything Gus has always been incapable of, it's lying. And there was no reason for him to be exaggerating."

Margaret shook her head. "Why didn't we notice?"

"Because we were too occupied with ourselves to notice that Shawn isn't stupid. Looking back, I'd say it's a small wonder he only snuck away at night."

Margaret swirled the remains of her coffee around in her cup as if trying to gather some universal truth from the sloshing of the brown liquid.

"Do you think we screwed up?"

"Yeah." Henry sighed and took another sip of his own, rapidly cooling coffee. "Yeah, I think we screwed up pretty badly. Every teenager projects that they're grown and no longer need their parents, but the truth is that they do. We just didn't see. But you know what? While we completely and utterly screwed up our marriage and our family life, somehow we managed not to screw up Shawn."

Margaret chuckled bitterly. "Now I know you're just tossing out platitudes."

"Why do you say that?"

Margaret finally turned away from gazing at the ocean and looked at Henry. The expression in her hazel eyes sent a sharp jab of an emotion he couldn't quite place through Henry's stomach. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but it left a lingering feeling of unease.

"Henry, you had our son's life planned out from the day he was born. His teenage years were all about rebelling against that, and his adult life is the opposite of what you wanted him to be. And now you tell me that you're all right with that?"

Henry shrugged. "I'm not saying that. But that he didn't become what I wanted him to be doesn't mean he's a screw-up. Or that we screwed him up."

Margaret looked at Henry for a few seconds longer, then she shook her head and turned away. "So that means you're totally all right with the fact that our son disappointed every single expectation you ever had of him? Henry, I know you well enough to tell that's a lie. Heck, people who only know you for ten minutes could probably tell that it's a lie."

"I didn't say I was all right with it. And neither did I say that Shawn didn't disappoint my expectations in him. But we didn't screw him up, Margaret. We didn't raise a kid who's unable to get by in life, and we didn't emotionally cripple him. Considering what went down between us before our divorce, I'd say that's an achievement. No matter what you or I think about it, Shawn seems to be happy with how his life is going. That's something. We might not always have been the best parents for him, together or on our own, but we didn't raise him to hate his life. Whether or not I like what he's doing with his life isn't really important."

Margaret shook her head. "That sounds reassuring. We screwed up badly, but at least we didn't raise a sociopath."

Henry chuckled and put his empty cup down on the porch beside his feet. "That's not what I'm saying, Margaret. All I'm saying is that Shawn seems happy enough with the way he leads his life. Isn't that what all parenting guides tell you? _No matter what your child becomes, the most important thing is that he or she is happy_?"

"As if you'd ever read a parenting guide."

Henry shrugged. "I might have watched a few minutes of _Nanny 911_ while channel surfing."

Margaret smiled and put her own empty cup down. They silently stared ahead for a few minutes, as if the people walking along the beach and the two surfers braving the waves were the most interesting things in the universe.

Henry couldn't recall the last time the two of them had been able to spend time in silence together. Much less in comfortable silence. Two days ago, Henry would have never believed that possible, much less within a mere forty-eight hours.

"When I told Shawn about the divorce last night, he asked me whether either of us was married again."

"And what did you answer?"

Henry chuckled. Of course he should have known that breaching this subject wouldn't become easy, not with his ex-wife.

"That I'm not married, and that I'm not in a relationship either. I told him that if he wants to know about you, he'd have to ask you himself. Just so that you're not surprised if he starts popping questions about your love-life later on."

Margaret smiled. "And curiosity on your part of course has nothing to do with it."

Henry shrugged. "It's been fifteen years, Margaret. Over ten since we last met. The thought that there might be another man in your life isn't that far-fetched."

"But there isn't."

Henry didn't know why he felt relieved.

It was ridiculous. They were divorced. They had been divorced for long over a decade now. And he hadn't lived like a monk during that time, either. Then why was the thought that there was no man in Margaret's life a relief? It wasn't as if he still had any claim on even being part of her life, much less judging that she did or didn't have the right to do something.

"There was one." Margaret's words were slow, as if she was thinking carefully how much to reveal. "Well, one relationship that really counted, or so I thought. Max. He was a lawyer for one of the firms I did consulting work for. We were together for over two years."

Henry didn't quite know what to say. Since their divorce, he had forced himself not to think about Margaret more often than not. But of course he hadn't been able to completely avoid thinking about her. It was impossible; Shawn was looking too much like his mother for Henry to completely ban her from his thoughts. But somehow he had forced himself not to think about the possibility that Margaret had found somebody else to share her life with.

"Did Shawn know?"

Margaret nodded. "They never met. I see Shawn rarely enough, I never wanted to play patchwork family during the few times that he came to New Jersey. But he knew about Max, yes."

"He never told me."

Margaret chuckled. "And that surprises you? Come on Henry, be honest. I know that Shawn and you don't talk about me very often, anyway. I guess it just never came up the few times you did. Or Shawn thought you'd not be interested."

"Or that it was none of my business."

Margaret nodded. "Or that it was none of your business."

"So why the past tense when you're talking about him?"

Margaret sighed, and at first Henry thought that this was all the answer he would get. But after a moment she continued.

"We were together for over two years. We even lived together for five months. And stupid and blind as I was, I thought things were going well. We were both working long hours, so we didn't have much time to spend with each other, but I really thought things were going well. And then I suddenly find myself in a scene from an awful soap opera."

"What, you caught him cheating on you?"

It was a lighthearted remark, but the look on Margaret's face told Henry that it had hit the target dead-on. He grimaced. "Oh no."

Margaret nodded. "I couldn't believe my eyes. I came home from work earlier one day. Officially Max was meeting clients all day long. Unofficially I caught him in our bed with a girl who was barely old enough to vote. A dumb, blond, big-breasted flight attendant, can you believe that?"

Henry couldn't, actually. True, he had never met this Max, and he had no desire to ever meet him. But he had lived with Margaret for over seventeen years. He knew that she wasn't always the easiest person to get along with, but he also knew that somebody who'd drop her for a blond bimbo had to be blind _and_ stupid.

There were many reasons why their marriage had failed, but the fact that another women had held more attraction to him than Margaret hadn't been a part of it. Certainly not.

"So what did you do?"

Margaret laughed, a short but hearty laugh. "I might have lost it a little. I yelled for a while, and then I kicked them both out, exactly as they were when I found them – completely naked. I threw the clothes out the window, though. I'm not completely inhuman. And it certainly wasn't my fault that the clothes landed in a group of thorny bushes. Served Max right that he got his privates scratched when he tried to get them out there. I don't think he and _Miss please fasten your seatbelt_ had a future after that."

Henry grinned. He could picture that scene in his head perfectly. When Margaret lost it, even if only a little, you didn't want to be on the receiving end of that particular outbreak. He had gotten on her bad side often enough to know that he didn't want to get on her bad side. When she wanted, Margaret could be a force of nature.

Margaret turned back to look straight ahead towards the beach.

"I missed the ocean."

Henry was a little taken aback by that statement. "I admit that I've never been to New Jersey, but I'm fairly sure there's an ocean there, too."

Margaret shook her head. "It's not the same. In New Jersey I have to drive if I want to go to the beach. And it's not California."

"Does that mean you're thinking about coming back?"

Margaret shrugged. "I don't know. I've thought about it over the past year and a half, after that thing with Max ended."

"So what? You're asking me for permission to come back to town?"

On any other day, that remark might have earned Henry a dark look if he was lucky, a tirade if he wasn't. But today, Margaret only shook her head.

"No. I'm not asking you for permission, Henry. All I said was that I've been thinking about moving back."

Henry shook his head. He didn't understand that statement at all. Margaret had always wanted to make a career, and one of her constant complaints during the last years of their marriage had been that Henry spent all day at work while she had to take care of the household and of Shawn, which left her with no time for a real career of her own.

And one of the reasons why Margaret had left California after Shawn had finished high school had been that her career chances were much better elsewhere. Especially New Jersey, being so close to New York, offered many more possibilities for somebody with a degree in economics. One of the few things Henry knew about Margaret's life in New Jersey was that she was working successfully for a firm that did financial consulting, and that she was finally making the career she had always dreamt of.

He didn't understand why she would want to stop all that now and get back to California.

"But why?"

Margaret frowned. "Why what?"

"Why would you want to come back? You always said that you couldn't make the career you wanted in California. And as far as I know, you have that career in New Jersey. Why would you want to give that up and come back?"

Margaret shrugged, but it was the uncomfortable kind of shrug that was clearly hiding a more complicated explanation. So Henry silently waited until Margaret would give that explanation.

It took a few long moments until she did.

"I guess you could say that I learned a career isn't everything. Actually, I've been cutting back on work over the past year."

"You did?"

Margaret nodded. "Yes, I did. I know it sounds a little unbelievable, but I did."

"Any specific reason for that?"

Margaret sighed. "I guess the heart attack was a pretty good reason to reconsider my working habits."

Henry felt the floor drop out from under his feet.

Slowly, very slowly, he turned around so that he was facing his ex-wife. "What? When?"

"Fourteen months ago."

Henry was shaking his head, as if shaking it enough could make what he had just heard untrue.

"You had a heart attack?"

He was fairly sure that he had understood Margaret correctly the first time she had said it, but he just couldn't wrap his mind around the fact. Of all the things he could have ever imagined to happen to Margaret, this certainly wasn't one of them.

"But how did that happen? You never smoked, you never drank a lot, you've always been living comparatively healthy, how could something like that happen?"

Margaret shrugged again. "After my relationship with Max took that spectacular swan dive into oblivion, I buried myself in my work. And I mean buried. I worked sixteen hour days, sometimes more than that, six days a week. And even on Sundays I worked from home. For as long as I was working, I didn't need to think about the fact that I was a divorced woman over fifty who had just been cheated on by the man I had really thought I could spend the rest of my life with. I thought it was healthier not to think about it but rather do something constructive. Moping about how bad my life was wouldn't help me either.

"And so I worked. I was running on coffee and takeout food and I didn't sleep more than four hours a night. And one day, I just dropped, right in the middle of my office. I had what I thought was a bad cold, so I was already hurting everywhere and didn't really pay any mind when my chest started hurting. Next thing I know, everything went black and when I woke up again I was in hospital. It turned out that in addition to the cold, I had a case of protracted angina. Combined with the stress it resulted in a heart attack."

Henry was still shaking his head, though he wasn't even aware of it. Margaret saw the movement and smiled.

"It sounds worse than it actually was. It was a mild heart attack, and my secretary and a colleague immediately called 911. I didn't need surgery or anything. I spent five days in hospital, and was released with a lot of good advice and the resolution to cut back on work. It was a warning. A severe warning, true enough, but a warning nevertheless. One that I heeded."

Henry pushed himself away from the porch railing and brought both hands up against his head. "Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you tell me about this until now?"

Margaret shook her head with a smile.

"Henry, we hadn't spoken in over ten years. And the last time that we spoke more than just a few words about Shawn over the phone, we had a full-blown, no holds barred shouting match after you arrested Shawn. What did you expect me to do? Call you, out of the blue after all these years to say 'Henry, I had a heart attack and now I'm cutting back on work'? What good would that have done?"  
"Damn it Margaret, I had a right to know!"

Henry started pacing up and down the porch angrily. He didn't really know where the anger came from, if he was honest with himself. Margaret was right, they hadn't even been on speaking terms. With the divorce they had officially given up every right to be informed about the developments in each other's lives, whether good or bad. But right now it felt different.

Margaret had been his wife, for crying out loud.

They had been together for nearly eighteen years.

She was the mother of his child, his only child.

Didn't that give him the right to know when she nearly died, divorced or not?

"No Henry, actually you didn't have a right to know."

Henry stopped pacing and looked at Margaret again. She was leaning with her back against the porch railing, arms hanging loosely by her sides, and was watching him with her head cocked slightly to the side. There was a sad smile on her face, and Henry knew that some of the anguish he was feeling must have shown on his face then. He didn't care. But Margaret had noticed, and she shook her head.

"You didn't have a right to know just like I didn't have a right to know if anything had happened to you. We're divorced. We're living thousands of miles apart, and the only thing we still have in common is Shawn."

"Does Shawn know?"

Margaret shook her head. "No. He called while I was in hospital and left a message on my answering machine. The next time we spoke, I told him I had been on a business trip. It's the first time I ever lied to him."

"Why didn't you tell him the truth?"

Margaret shrugged. "To be honest? I don't know. He would have worried, he'd have insisted on coming to New Jersey, or on me coming to California, and I didn't want that. I didn't want it to be blown out of proportion. It was over the day I got out of hospital, and if I take a little care about my stress levels and don't protract any more chest infections, something like this won't happen again. It's no big deal, and it's been over a year ago. I don't want anybody to make a huge fuss about it."

No big deal.

Henry nearly laughed out loud.

A heart attack, mild or not, was always a big deal. He didn't like how Margaret tried to play it down, and knowing her as well as he did after all these years, he was sure that by the time it happened, it had been a big deal for her.

Margaret wasn't a woman who was easily thrown off track, but the thought that the workings of her own body were getting out of control had to be disconcerting for her. He had seen his wife injured or ill before. Margaret went nuts when her body couldn't keep up with what her mind wanted. The thought that her heart was making problems had to be huge for her.

But even if she had called, what would he have done?

He probably wouldn't have flown to New Jersey, at least not if she hadn't asked him to.

In fact, there was nothing he could have done, even if she had called.

But still, he had a right to know. He'd stand by that.

She had been his wife. That marriage might no longer exist, but that didn't matter. It didn't matter whether they still had a piece of paper that said they were married, or whether they had a piece of paper that said they officially no longer were.

They had been married, at one point they had decided to spend their life together. The whole part about _till death do us part_ had not been for them, but still. He had loved Margaret once. In fact, he had loved her madly. And while Henry Spencer wasn't the soppy romantic guy who'd say crap like a small part of him would always love her, it still mattered that he had loved her once.

And a small part of him would always remember what it felt like to love her, and right now that part was in anguish over the fact that Margaret had been seriously ill and he hadn't known the first thing about it.

It just didn't feel right.

It wasn't right.

It wasn't how things were supposed to go.

He had always assumed that if anything ever happened to him, somebody would tell Margaret.

But Margaret obviously didn't deem it necessary to extend the same courtesy to him, and for some reason, that thought hurt.

Henry would have thought that after fifteen years apart, Margaret's potential to hurt him had long been used up. But quite obviously, that thought had been wrong.

Margaret pushed herself off the porch railing and took a step towards him.

"Henry, let's not make a bigger deal out of this than it is. I'm not dying."  
"That's not what this is about."

"Then what is it about?"

Henry rolled his eyes and sighed. Why did it always end up with a conversation about emotions? He wasn't good with this kind of thing, not good at all. Handling his emotions was already hard enough, talking about them was a whole different league.

"I had a right to know, Meg."

He didn't know why he used her nickname then. He hadn't wanted to, somehow it had slipped out. He couldn't think clearly, and it felt as if his mind was wrapped in a fog.

"You could have died. I had a right to know about that."

It was the first time in years that Henry didn't care about the fact that his façade was slipping. What Margaret had thrown at him was too much to take in and worry about what emotions showed on his face at the same time. His control was slipping, anyway, and his voice was getting rough with an emotion that he couldn't quite put into words.

Margaret just looked at him with a sad smile on her face, her eyes suspiciously bright in the shade of the porch. Henry swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"I had a right to know." He repeated, in a firmer voice.

"I know." Margaret replied in a low voice. "But I was scared."

Henry shook his head, trying to understand that renewed twist in their conversation.

"Scared of what?"

"Scared of calling you. Scared of the emotions it might stir up. I…I thought about calling you. Once I even dialed your number. But then I told myself that whether you knew or not wouldn't change anything. I was fine, nothing had happened. There were no aftereffects, nothing had changed. So why should I start changing things by calling you? I decided not to. I chickened out. I figured I'd just forget all about it and go on with my life. It seemed like the preferable alternative to working through seventeen years of relationship and fifteen years of divorce, and through the shredded feelings left over from all that."

Henry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

"Calling me about your heart attack wouldn't have meant that we'd have had to work through our entire relationship. It was just a call."

Margaret shook her head. "No, it wasn't. Any call after over ten years of complete silence is not just a call. What would it have changed?"

"What it would have changed? Everything. It would have changed everything."

"Maybe that's what I was afraid of, Henry. We weren't talking in so many years because there was nothing we still had to say to each other. The fact that I had a heart attack doesn't change that. And I was scared that if I called you about it, you'd behave as if that wasn't the case. I didn't want you to pretend anything just because I had health problems."

Henry didn't say anything to that. He wanted to, the first thought on his mind was to protest, but he knew that Margaret was right. If she had called him, worry would have overridden their conflicts from ten years ago. Temporarily, but still. It might have left them in an awkward place afterwards, once the worry had ebbed away.

But that didn't change the fact that she should have called him. Period. There was nothing else to say to that.

"I'm sorry, Henry. But I did what I thought was the right thing to do for me at the time. I couldn't have dealt with you and our history on top of everything else."

"And now you can?"

Margaret shrugged. "To be honest? I have no idea. But as soon as Shawn gets back from the police station, it'll be about him again and no longer about me. So I don't need to deal with anything if I don't want to. Let's just focus on Shawn for once, shall we?"

Henry shook his head. "It's not easy with that bombshell you just dropped on me."

Margaret shook her head with a sigh. "It's been fourteen months ago Henry. I told you because it came up in the conversation. But please don't make such a big deal about it. And whatever you do, don't tell Shawn about it. He has enough to deal with as it is."

Margaret bent down to pick up her empty coffee mug then turned back towards the house. Henry stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Wait, that's just it? You leave it at _Don't make a fuss and don't tell Shawn_ and leave?"

"What else is there left to say? You know what happened, what else is there to say?"

Henry couldn't believe his ears. What else was there left to say? About a million things, actually. If only he knew where to start.

"You just tell me that you nearly died, and in the next sentence you say I shouldn't blow it out of proportion. This isn't fair, Margaret. You've had fourteen months to deal with what happened, I didn't even have fourteen minutes!"

"Well, I think it's fair that I've had longer to deal with it since I was the one who had the damn heart attack! So don't tell me what's fair and what not, all right? I've had to deal with this all on my own…"

"Because you didn't call anybody! That's not exactly my fault, all right?"

Margaret sighed. "No, it's not. But it's also not your place to tell me what to do."

"Maybe not. But damn it Margaret, you have to understand that this isn't exactly easy for me to deal with right now. You had a heart attack, you could have died. I could have…"

Henry stopped himself, but Margaret didn't leave his last sentence at that.

"You could have what, Henry? You could have lost me? You lost me fifteen years ago. We lost each other fifteen years ago. That's what a divorce means, and the fact that I was in bad health for less than a week won't change anything about that. That's not a reason to change anything about our relationship."

"Or lack of relationship, you mean."

Margaret rolled her eyes. "It's not as if I had forced over ten years of silence upon you. Neither of us called the other because we simply didn't have anything in common except for our son. And the only reason why I came back to Santa Barbara is because Shawn needs me. It's all right that you know about what happened now, but it doesn't change a thing about our relationship."

Henry bent down to retrieve his own mug. "But maybe it should."

"What?" Margaret looked as if she didn't know whether to smile or not. "Are you suggesting we're supposed to become friends again? I've been here for less than two days, and I already lost count of how often we started fighting with each other. That's not a good start for becoming friends."

Henry nervously started to push the mug from one hand to the other. "What if it happens again?"

Margaret turned away, but Henry had seen the flash of emotions across her face.

"The doctors said it was unlikely if I don't overtax myself. It was the combination of the angina and the stress that caused the attack."

"But you're scared that it'll happen again." Margaret didn't react, so Henry took a step towards her, back into her line of vision. "Don't tell me you're not scared, Margaret."

"Wouldn't you be?" Margaret glared up at Henry at those words. "I had a heart attack, of course I'm scared. I didn't break an arm or bumped my head, my heart stopped working properly! Of course I'm scared that it will happen again! Who wouldn't be? But there's nothing anybody can do about it, so we can just as well stop talking about it altogether."

She turned around, but that wasn't enough to hide the movement of her hand swiping over her eyes.

Henry put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her back towards him. "Hey, Meg."

Margaret didn't look up to meet Henry's eyes, and at that moment Henry suddenly saw her behavior for what it was – an elaborate façade that wasn't really holding up anymore. Some things about people didn't change, no matter for how long you didn't see them. And no matter that he hadn't seen Margaret in such a long time, Henry knew that right now she couldn't hide for any longer how scared she really was.

And there wasn't a damn thing Henry could do about it.

Margaret was right.

Henry couldn't do anything about the fact that she was scared to death about the time bomb that she now thought she heard ticking in her chest.

He saw her swipe her hand over her eyes again, and without really thinking about it Henry pulled Margaret close and held her against himself.

He didn't know why he was doing this. In all honesty, he had no idea. But Margaret was scared and hurting, and right now they all had enough problems to deal with. If he could give her the feeling that she wasn't quite as alone as she felt, that was all the justification he needed.

He was simply giving her a shoulder to cry on, after all. Nothing more than that. This wasn't delving into the past, this was simply providing comfort after a conversation that had ended up in completely unexpected territory.

There was nothing more to it.

Margaret wrapped her arms around Henry's waist and he gently, if a little awkwardly, put a hand on her back and patted it.

Just a shoulder to cry on.

Nothing more to it.

Nothing at all.


	11. Not stupid Not stupid at all

**Chapter 11 – Not stupid. Not stupid at all.**

Something was going on here.

Come on, he wasn't stupid. It was blatantly obvious.

Shawn and Gus had returned from their trip to the police station in the early afternoon, and he had immediately realized that something was going on here. The atmosphere in the house had been completely awkward, positively charged with a tension which Shawn couldn't quite define.

Gus hadn't come into the house with him, he had only dropped him off and then returned home to prepare something for his other job – something which he referred to as his _first_ job, a title that confused Shawn extremely. How come that he had a first job if he was working together with Shawn in his psychic detective agency? It didn't really make sense. But if he had work to do, Shawn couldn't keep him from it.

Also, by the time Gus had dropped him off he hadn't yet known how strange the atmosphere in the house would be.

Shawn had no idea what had happened, but he was sure that something had gone down while he had been away.

Mostly because his mother had been crying.

She might have put on some makeup to hide it, but while that served to cover up some of the shadows under her eyes, it did nothing to hide that her eyes were red and slightly swollen.

Maybe his parents had been fighting. From what his father had told him, they hadn't spoken in many years, it was completely possible that they had gotten into a fight about something. But somehow, he didn't think that this was what had happened.

His parents were interacting strangely, but not as if they had been fighting. They were pleasant enough in the few exchanges they had over the course of the afternoon, but not as if they were trying to cover up some aggression between them.

Rather, it was as if they were walking on eggshells around each other, afraid to say or do the wrong thing.

It was highly unsettling, and Shawn was glad that he and Gus had already eaten before they had come home. Sitting through a meal with those two acting the way there were doing now wasn't something Shawn thought he'd particularly enjoy.

And then his father withdrew a few minutes after Shawn's arrival to fix something on his boat. Shawn didn't ask. It seemed that his father made a habit out of avoiding situations that made him uncomfortable. It had been like that in the hospital room a few days ago, as well. It seemed that Henry Spencer was more the type to run and avoid a confrontation than to stay and face it.

His mother vanished for a walk along the beach, which left Shawn pretty much to his own devices.

That was not a good thing these days, not at all.

Two days worth of memories, a huge mountain of confusion and the strange feeling that something was not right were all he was left with.

The feeling of unease he was experiencing wasn't solely to blame on the strange atmosphere in the house. He had been feeling uneasy before, ever since their visit to the police station in the morning.

The frustrating thing was that Shawn couldn't really put his finger on what was bothering him. Something was off, but he had no idea what it could be.

It could have been the stares of the people in the police station. They had bothered him, and they had seemed out of place, but somehow Shawn doubted that his reaction to that was so strong.

Of course, meeting Detective Lassiter had also been a highly disconcerting experience. Ever since he had woken up in hospital, everybody he met had treated Shawn in a friendly manner. They had introduced themselves, and they had been careful in how they treated him. Too careful at times, admittedly. Actually, Shawn had been glad that finally somebody seemed to be treating him just like they had been treating him before his memory loss.

But still, Shawn had no idea where all the hostility in Lassiter's behavior had come from. From everything he had been told about himself so far, Shawn didn't think he was the kind of guy to have a feud going on with anybody. Yet that was exactly how Lassiter had behaved towards him, as if they had some sort of extreme feud going on between them.

But while Lassiter's behavior had certainly confused Shawn, he didn't think that was what was bothering him so much right now.

It was frustrating, just like most things in his life seemed to be since he had woken up in the hospital. It felt like the answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't even know what the question was. Something was bothering him, something was going on and if he only figured out what caused this strange feeling of unease in his gut, the answers would come.

But he had no clue.

No clue at all.  
Something was wrong, something he had seen or heard recently had triggered a few synapses in his brain, but it seemed like there was a traffic jam on the nerve highway and the conclusion simply didn't reach the part of his brain which would be able to make sense of the message.

His own head was not cooperating right now, and it was completely and utterly frustrating.

Something was wrong, but he was unable to tell what it was.

And there was nobody around to talk to about this. His father was off doing whatever one did when one worked on a boat, and his mother was off enjoying the landscape. Shawn had talked about his feeling of unease with Gus earlier, but his friend hadn't been able to point anything out of the ordinary out to him.

According to Gus, Lassiter's behavior towards Shawn was normal. Obviously, the detective chose from a certain spectrum of hostility whenever he was forced to interact with Shawn, and it was actually the times when Lassiter didn't act hostile towards Shawn that were the most remarkable.

And nothing else about that morning had stood out for Gus.

Which left Shawn back at square one – clueless and confused.

Welcome to my world, he thought bitterly as he flopped down on the sofa and switched on the TV. After a few minutes of channel surfing, he ended up watching the news report on a local station. It were the words 'jewel heist' that piqued Shawn's interest in the report, but it was merely a statement about the trial against the four jewel thieves being postponed until further notice. No reason was given as for why that happened, and Shawn's name was not mentioned on the report, either.

At least that was something to be glad of. Shawn didn't particularly want to be in the centre of a media-frenzy right now, especially not while he was unable to remember anything.

The weather report that followed wasn't particularly interesting, an eighty percent chance of rain for the next day was predicted, and Shawn picked up the remote and turned the TV off just as an advertisement promoted a 24-hour sale in a local mall that day.

The silence in the house was uncomfortable, and Shawn quickly got up from the sofa and walked over into the kitchen.

There was a thermos with coffee standing on the counter, and Shawn poured himself a cup. As he did, his eyes strayed out the window. He could look down to the beach from the window, and with some surprise he saw his mother sitting on the sand, staring out at the ocean.

If that was what her walk looked like, she hadn't come very far.

It looked pretty windy outside, and Margaret was sitting there in nothing but a thin shirt. She was too far away to determine whether she was cold or not, but Shawn simply couldn't imagine that it was comfortable to sit in the sand and have the wind blowing at her.

Shawn frowned, but then he left his coffee standing where it was and went over towards the doors. On his way he grabbed a jacket that was hanging on the back of one of the chairs. It was his father's jacket, but Shawn didn't particularly want to search through the house to find out where his mother kept her clothes and if she had brought a jacket with her on her trip.

Shawn walked through the garden, across the small road that ran behind the back of the house and over towards the beach.

His mother didn't react to his approach, and she jumped a little in surprise as Shawn draped the jacket over her shoulders.

"Shawn! You scared the life out of me."  
"Sorry." Shawn sat down beside her and crossed his legs Indian style. "But I figured you might be cold, sitting out here like that."

Margaret eyed the jacket Shawn had put over her shoulders with a frown. "That's your father's jacket."

Shawn shrugged. "His fault for leaving it in the kitchen instead of putting it where it belongs. Besides, beggars can't be choosers."

Margaret smiled and shrugged into the sleeves of the jacket. "Thanks Shawn. It was getting a little chilly out here."

"Well Mom, I don't know if anybody ever explained the concept of a _walk_ to you, but the main point is that you make use of your feet to move along. It gets the circulation going and you won't get cold."

Margaret smiled. "You've always been a wiseass."

Shawn shrugged. "I guess it's part of my charm. I wouldn't know for sure, though. Can I take a rain check on the response until my memory comes back?"

Margaret looked at Shawn for a long moment, sizing him up. Shawn got the uncomfortable feeling that her eyes were seeing straight through his joking façade, laying his rising feeling of despair about his lack of memory bare. He decided to change the topic, and quickly, before she'd start talking about things Shawn didn't want to talk about.

"So, what happened between Dad and you?"  
A frown appeared on his mother's face. "Why would you think anything happened?"  
Shawn shrugged. "Come on. Everybody keeps telling me that I'm good at observing things. You're not talking to each other, Dad shuffles off to spray-paint his boat or whatever, you sit here and stare at the ocean, and as if to top that you've been crying. So what was it? You guys get into a fight?"

Margaret smiled and shook her head. "No, we didn't. Well…actually we did, but that wasn't the problem."

"Then what was?"

Margaret laughed. "What would you say if I tell you that it's none of your business?"

"That it's not fair to keep things from your amnesic son."

He got an eye roll as an answer to that remark, one that said clearly his mother thought she should have known.

"Your father and I had a long talk. And as long talks sometimes go, especially after more than ten years, it got a little emotional. That's all there is to it."

"Strange to imagine anything going emotional between you after you've been divorced for that long."

Margaret shrugged and got up. "Come on, let's take a little walk."

"Ah, so you do know the concept of a walk after all." Shawn got up and fell into step beside his mother. "And don't think you can distract me."

Margaret put her hands into the pockets of Henry's jacket and stared down at the sand beneath their feet as they walked.

"The fact that your father and I are long since divorced doesn't mean that we're totally indifferent towards each other. There was a lot of anger and resentment by the time we separated, but ten years is a long time. The pain and anger aren't that close to the surface anymore, and it's easier to remember that there was a time when our relationship was different. We weren't doomed to fail as a couple right from the start."

"Then what happened?"

Margaret shrugged. "A lot of things. We were just falling apart. Your father started burying himself in his work, I wanted a career, and our lives just started drifting away from each other. It took us a while to figure out that it might be a better idea to live our lives separately. Eventually, I moved out."

"Did I go with you?"

Shawn saw his mother give the barest shake of her head. "No. I quit my job because I got an offer from a firm in Goleta. I moved there. It's not too far away, but your father and I decided that it would not be good for you to leave town altogether. We didn't want you to have to change school and leave all your friends and everything behind."

Shawn tried to mull that thought over in his head. Somehow, it was hard for him to digest. Since his father had told him about the divorce the previous evening, somehow he had figured that he had stayed with his mother afterwards. He might not remember what his relationship with both his parents was like, but somehow he had the feeling that he was much closer to his mother. That, and that his mother was much easier to get along with than his father.

"You stayed with Henry for three years," Margaret continued. "We saw each other on weekends and over the holidays. I had to travel a lot for my new job, so you'd have been left alone pretty often if you had come with me. But a few months before you graduated high school the two of you had a big falling out. You stayed with me after that, until after your graduation. You left Santa Barbara pretty quickly after you finished high school, and a year later I got a great job offer on the east coast and moved to New Jersey."

"What kind of falling out?"

Margaret sighed, as if she had hoped Shawn wouldn't ask that particular question. But if he was honest with himself, that was all he had heard during her previous words. He still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that he had stayed with his father after the divorce. And from the little he knew and had seen about his father, it struck him as odd that it had taken them three years to have a big falling out.

"You wanted to impress a girl, and because she didn't want to ride to your date on a motorcycle, you took your father's car. Actually you were grounded at the time, and you weren't allowed to take the truck without asking anyway. Henry saw you while he was on patrol, his temper got the better of him and he arrested you."

"What?"  
"He arrested you."

Shawn shook his head. That couldn't be true. What kind of father would arrest his own son just because he had done something without permission? What kind of sick logic would lead his father to do that?

"Is he out of his mind?"

Margaret laughed. "When I got to know about it, I think I yelled pretty much the same thing at him. But looking back on it from a distance, it's something your father would do."

"Now that sounds encouraging."

His mother shook her head. "I know it sounds strange now. If you still had the memory of your life with him, you'd understand. Henry doesn't do these things out of spite. But to him, life is all about rules and regulations. He needs that framework to function, and he doesn't see that other people in his life live outside of those rules. Having a son who has a totally different approach to life didn't make things easy for him."

Shawn stopped walking and thrust his own hands into the pockets of his jeans. The cast on his left arm and wrist was bulging out his pocket, but at least keeping his hands in his pockets stopped him from scratching underneath the cast.

"Why are you making excuses for him? He arrested me. His own son! How could he do that?"

"I'm not making excuses, I'm trying to explain to you how your father's mind works. You're not the only member of this family whose mind works in a way that not everybody else can immediately understand. Ever since you were born, your father tried to prepare you for what was going to come towards you in life."

"Yeah, turning me into a cop."

Margaret nodded. "That was one thing, yes. But the background of that was that he was trying to teach you how the world works, according to Henry Spencer's book. Henry never understood that not everybody was seeing things his way. And he never understood that he isn't holding all universal truths. But the most important thing is that he was never quite able to accept that his own son was trying to live by a different set of rules. The more you rebelled against him, the more he tried to drive his own lessons home. The two of you locked horns more than once before you had that big fight. I think arresting you that night was your father's ultimate attempt at showing you what his rules and boundaries were, and what you got for overstepping them."

Margaret had stopped a few feet in front of Shawn, and after a moment of deliberation he started walking again to catch up with her.

"I guess it didn't help our relationship any."

Margaret shook her head. "No, it didn't. It got even more difficult than it already was after Henry arrested you. You left town to travel around the country after your graduation, and your contact deteriorated. Occasionally, you wrote a postcard or called him. The last time you had any real contact was a little while before your father retired and moved to Miami. But you never had any real close contact after that one big falling out. To be honest, I was surprised when you called me two years ago and told me that you had settled in Santa Barbara again. Even more surprised when I realized that you and your father were getting closer again."

"Why?"

"Because you're both two thick-headed stubborn idiots when it comes to mending fences, that's why."

There was a smile on her face as she said those words, but Shawn was a little taken aback by the statement. His mind was racing to put things into some sort of context, but so far he was failing.

"Sounds a little complicated to me."

"Yes, if anything, our family has never been easy."

Shawn kicked at the sand beneath his feet, watching how it flew away in the wind that had picked up over the past minutes. Beside him, Margaret zipped up Henry's jacket and buried her hands in the pockets again.

Shawn was starting to get cold despite the sweater he was wearing, and he started to direct their steps back the way they had come.

"So from everything you said, I guess I'm closer to you than to Dad."

Shawn had expected the answer to be immediate and positive, so he was surprised when his statement was only met with silence. With a frown, he looked over towards his mother. There was a look on her face which said that she wasn't entirely sure what to say in response.

"Don't tell me that it's not like that. You just told me that Dad arrested me, that we barely spoke for years, so I don't quite see how we could possibly be close."

Margaret smiled slightly. "I just don't know whether the two of us are closer, Shawn."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Margaret sighed. "I didn't do everything right in raising you, either. It was always the easy choice to let your father be the strict one, to burden the uncomfortable things like punishing you on him. Henry often accused me of making him look like the bad guy, and at times he was right about that. And after your father and I separated, I got pretty focused on my career. Now don't get me wrong. I love you, and I've always cared about you and been concerned about you. But after your Dad and I separated, I shifted focus. Before, I had been a working mom. And suddenly, I had a career and a kid on the side. Of course I felt guilty about it, but it also felt good. It felt incredibly good to be working, and to be recognized for my work."

"So you're telling me I'm not really close to either of you?"

Margaret shook her head. "No, that's not what I'm saying. What I'm trying to say is that our relationship might be closer because it's always been a lot easier. You never had to prove yourself to me, I've always tried to take you just the way you were. But your father had all those plans on how your life was supposed to be, all those expectations. But you turned out the polar opposite of what he wanted you to be. You've always been trying to prove yourself to him."

"That so?"

"Yes, Shawn. That's how it is. You've been trying to prove to Henry that his way his not the only way to live a life. You've been trying to prove that you're good at what you're doing despite the fact that it's not what he wanted you to be."

Shawn shook his head. "So what? I'm a thirty year old whose whole life circles around impressing his father?"

Margaret stopped and looked straight at Shawn. "No. You're a kid who has some serious communication issues with his father, and you've always had them. Henry says _'You're going to be a cop'_ when he actually means _'I'd be proud if you followed in my footsteps'_. You say _'I'm not going to be a cop' _when what you actually mean is _'I know I'd be good at it, and I don't want to disappoint you, but it's simply not me.'_ The two of you have the incredible talent to say only a part of what you mean and leave out the more important things."

"And how do you know all that if you've been living in New Jersey for the past ten years?"

Shawn couldn't help that his voice turned sharp. He didn't like the helplessness he felt whenever somebody was telling him about his past. There was no way for him to determine whether what he heard was the truth in the first place. That was hard enough when people told him simple facts about his life, but it got really unbearable when people were analyzing him. Shawn felt the need to defend his actions, but he simply didn't know how.

And as always when he was reminded of his lacking memory, he felt a surge of panic rise inside of him. Panic that this was how it would be from now on. Panic that his memory would never come back.

"I know that because we talk, Shawn. We talk on the phone often enough for me to know. The interesting thing about those calls is that I can always tell whenever you and Henry have gotten into yet another argument. It's hard to keep you from ranting about him for the entire call if that's the case. Believe me, no matter what you tried over the past years, you're still trying to make him understand why you chose to live your life the way you do. You're still trying to prove yourself to him. And somehow, you just keep missing the point."

"The point of what?"  
A smile spread on Margaret's face. "That Henry loves you. No matter if you didn't turn out to become what he wanted you to, no matter that you continuously overstep the boundaries he's set for his own life, no matter that you've deliberately tried to disappoint his expectations in you over and over again. He just has a hard time showing it, and you seem to have an even harder time seeing it."

"Again, how would you know?"

The smile on Margaret's face widened. "Because divorced or not, I know your father. And I've been there for a large part of your life, though you don't remember that right now. When I told Henry that I was pregnant, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. He was excited about the idea of being a father. But Henry's big problem is that he's always been caught up in his own expectations, for himself as well as for everybody else, but that never changed the fact that he loves you." The smile on her face dimmed somewhat as she started walking again. "To you, the two of us might seem closer, but that's because we don't have much to fight about. I love you, and I'm fairly sure that the feeling is mutual, but we're a lot more distant than you and your father are. We haven't had to struggle with everyday problems in a long time because we only see each other in small dosages. And we're both okay with that situation. It was you who decided to involve your father in your daily life again. You chose to confront your issues with him, that should tell you something."

Shawn didn't know what to respond to that. They walked the remaining distance to the house in silence, but Shawn's thoughts were racing.

This whole issue about his family was getting more and more complicated with every new piece of information he discovered. Obviously, nothing was as it seemed. That didn't make things any easier, of course.

So he got along well with his mother, but he didn't have all that much contact with her. And his father loved him but showed it by criticizing him and trying to turn him into something he obviously didn't want to.

He wondered whether he had ever been in therapy. It wouldn't surprise him.

When Shawn and Margaret came back into the house, Henry was standing in the kitchen preparing dinner. Shawn glanced at the clock, surprised to see how late it already was.

Henry was wearing different clothes than earlier and he had obviously showered, but there was a small streak of paint left underneath his jaw. Obviously, he had given his boat a new paintjob.

He looked up when Shawn and Margaret entered, and a slightly confused frown showed on his face as he saw Margaret wearing his jacket. Margaret wordlessly unzipped the jacket, took it off and hung it onto one of the kitchen chairs.

Then she stepped up to the counter. "Anything I can help with?"

Henry nodded after a moment. "Sure." He pushed a few peppers over her way. "You can cut up these. Thanks."

Margaret pulled out a knife and turned to wash the peppers in the sink. Shawn didn't feel comfortable standing around watching them work.

"Anything I can do?"

"No!"

Shawn was a little taken aback by the two voices answering him in unison. Both Henry and Margaret were staring at him as if he had just suggested something indecent.

"What? Is there some unspoken rule that I'm not allowed to do anything in the kitchen?"

Henry's eyebrows rose so high that they'd have disappeared beneath his hairline if he had one.

"Thanksgiving 1986. Once you get your memory back, you'll know what I'm talking about."

"Why don't you go into the living room and watch some TV?" His mother added with a smile.

Shawn raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "All right, all right. No kitchen work for me, I understand. I'll just silently hang around in the background if that is no problem."

His parents went back to their work of preparing dinner, his father with a slight shake of his head and his mother with another of those amused smiles on her face, and Shawn slowly turned around and started to look around the room.

He didn't want to go and watch TV right now, so he figured it was okay if he just hung around a little and saw what might pique his interest.

Not that there was much in the kitchen that would be considered interesting, at least for those who weren't too interested in cooking. Shawn decided to leave the room as soon as his eyes fell onto the whisk sitting on the countertop along with other kitchen utensils. What kind of man who was proud of having a Y-chromosome was using a whisk, anyway?

So he strolled into the living room. Of course he had been here before over he past two days, but so far he had not taken much time to really look around the place. If he had, the issue of his parents being divorced should have become clear immediately. There was just no way that a woman living in this house would allow all those fishing paraphernalia standing and hanging around. Seriously, this wasn't a hobby, this looked like an obsession.

There was a bookshelf standing against one wall, and Shawn slowly wandered over. A couple of shelves filled with paperbacks, mostly crime novels. Nothing too interesting there. The next shelf held photo albums, but Shawn was not in the mood to sift through family memories presented by Kodak. Not if it were memories about a life he didn't remember.

Shawn browsed the room for a little while longer, until his eyes fell onto a small device standing on one of the lower shelves. It looked a little like a walkie-talkie, but when Shawn took it out of the shelf he didn't find any button to press for speaking. Besides, what good would it do to have just one walkie-talkie standing around? Usually, they came in pairs, if Shawn remembered correctly. And since his memory of all things unrelated to his personal life seemed to be flawless, Shawn was sure that normally they came in pairs.

He picked the device up and carried it over into the kitchen, where his parents were obviously finished chopping things up. His mother was nowhere to be seen, but his father was sitting on a chair at the table, the sports pages of the paper open in front of him.

"Where's Mom?"

"Upstairs, changing into something warmer. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

He looked up from the paper and frowned as he saw his son standing there with the device in his hand.

"What do you want with my police scanner?"

Shawn brought the device up and looked at it with renewed interest. "I actually wanted to ask you what it is. So that's one of the things you use to monitor police radios? Aren't those illegal?"

Henry smiled shrewdly. "They tend not to look too closely if you're a former police officer."

"So what, you sit there and listen to police radio calls? Why would a retired officer need a police scanner, anyway?"

"I find it soothing."

Shawn frowned. "Soothing? You find it soothing to listen to distorted radio calls about shootings and robberies?"

Henry shrugged. "I'm not really listening to the calls most of the time. But it's been my job to listen to that kind of radio calls for a large part of my life, it's a sound I know well. It's soothing."

Shawn frowned and put the scanner down on the kitchen table. It did sound extremely strange, but maybe that's just how former cops were. Somehow, Shawn got the feeling that his father hadn't given up on being a cop yet.

Margaret came down a few minutes later, he blouse gone in favor of a long-sleeved shirt.

Dinner was mostly a silent affair. Margaret tried to make conversation with Shawn, and Henry gruffly inquired about his morning at the police station, but mostly they ate in silence. It was obvious that his father and mother still weren't entirely comfortable around each other, and while they might not do it consciously, they were only talking to Shawn and not to each other.

After dinner, Shawn volunteered to do the dishes, and as if by silent agreement Margaret did not protest against it. She poured herself a cup of coffee and went into the living room while Henry cleared the table and Shawn started to run water into the sink.

The police scanner was still lying on the kitchen table, and as the water ran Shawn curiously picked it up.

"How does it work?"

Henry took the scanner out of Shawn's hands and pressed a switch on its side. A green light lit up and static crackled from the tiny speaker in front. Henry adjusted some of the controls, and a few seconds later the voice of the dispatcher could be heard clearly in the kitchen.

Shawn listened to the disrupted and clipped voice for a moment, then turned towards his father.

"You find _that_ soothing?"

Henry shrugged and turned off the water. "As I said, I don't really listen to it. It like it as background noise."

They left the scanner on as they washed and dried the dishes. They weren't talking, and while Henry didn't seem to mind the silence between them, Shawn couldn't help but listen to the voice of the dispatcher. The radio wasn't set too loud, and with the static and all the code-talk it was difficult to keep up with the messages at times, but from the few things Shawn did understand, it was a rather quiet night. A burglary here, and two drunks getting into a bar fight there, but nothing that stood out as big.

When they were done with the dishes, it was nearly half past eight in the evening already.

"So, what are you planning for tonight? Should we see if there's a movie on?"

Shawn shook his head. "No, I'm not really in the mood."

Henry watched him for a moment, then he sat down in one of the kitchen chairs again. "What's going on?"

Shawn shrugged and nervously toyed around with the police scanner. He didn't push one of the buttons, though, he just shifted it a few inches to and fro on the tabletop.

"Something's not right."

"What do you mean?"

Shawn sighed. "I don't know. But ever since this morning I have this strange feeling that something is not right, and I can't quite tell what it is."

Henry leaned back and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Something about the case?"

"I don't know. I have no idea what it is, I only know that it started this morning. It could have been in the case file Vick showed me, it could have been detective Lassiter, it could have been anything. I just have no idea, and it's driving me nuts."

"Close your eyes, Shawn."

"What? What good is that supposed to do?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "Humor me, please. Close your eyes."

Shawn rolled his eyes, but then he obligingly closed them. "All right, my eyes are closed. Now what?"

"Now I want you to think about this morning. I want you to remember."

"Ha, ha. Very funny, Dad. Extremely funny."

Henry sighed. "Shawn, you do remember this morning, don't you? Or is your amnesia progressing and you failed to mention it to anybody?"

"Okay. This morning. What about it?"

"Just run me through it, Shawn. What did you do?"

"Well, I got out of bed and left my room to go to the bathroom. I might have scratched my chest while I was crossing the hall, and I'm fairly sure I was yawning as I locked the bathroom door. By the way, the key gets stuck if you turn it too far. Next, I put up the toilet seat and…"

"Shawn!" There was a tone of warning in his father's voice, but Shawn thought he also detected a small note of amusement there. It was hard to tell with his eyes closed.

"I don't want to know details of what you did in the bathroom. I want you to tell me what you and Gus did after you left the house. And not in quite that much detail."

"We went to the Psych office first. I asked Gus to drive me there, I wanted to take a look at the place. We were there for a bit less than an hour, so we were a little late for our appointment with the Chief. The air condition in the station wasn't working, and as Gus hurried me along I bumped into the maintenance guy who was supposed to fix it. Chief Vick was a little grumpy that we were late, and she left us in her office to look through the case file on the jewel theft and on…well, what happened up on that mountain."

"Did any of what you saw seem familiar? Maybe that's why you're having that feeling that something doesn't add up. Maybe you remembered something and aren't able to put it into context yet."  
There was a trace of undisguised hope in his father's voice and Shawn opened his eyes.

"Don't you think that if something, anything at all, had seemed familiar, I'd have noticed? I didn't remember anything, I'm sure of that. At first I thought it was because how detective Lassiter behaved towards me, but Gus said that he's generally not the most amicable guy around me. It's driving me crazy!"

With a sigh of frustration, Shawn ran his hands through his hair. "There is something, I know that. Something should make sense, and if my head was right it would. But right now, I just don't see it."

"Hey." Henry's voice was gruff, but not ungentle. "Look at me, Shawn."

Hesitantly, Shawn looked up. "What?"

"Your head is working just fine. You might not remember much right now, but that doesn't change the fact that your head is still working like it always does."

Shawn shook his head and got up from his chair. He started pacing up and down the kitchen, hands buried in his hair.

"So if my head is working just fine, why don't I get it? Why doesn't it make sense?"

Henry sighed and watched Shawn pace up and down the room. "You will figure it out, kid. You always do."

Shawn shook his head again. "I just don't see it, Dad."

He leaned against the counter, hands still buried in his hair, and stared down at the linoleum floor.

"It's always like that, believe me Shawn. It happens often when you're close to solving a case that you just know the solution is in sight. It's there and you're just unable to see it yet. But it'll come."

"I wish I could share your optimism. Or if it were only platitudes, I wish I could at least believe them."

Henry chuckled. "I'm sorry, I really am. But I'm simply convinced that you'll find the answer in time. Your brain simply works like that, if you come to a solution it isn't able to keep it locked away for long."

Something clicked.

Completely out of the blue, something clicked.

Synapses ready and reporting for duty, please boot the system and make sure that enough hard drive space is available.

"What did you say?"

Henry looked at him with a frown. "What?"

"What you just said. What was it?"

Confusion still etched onto his face, Henry shrugged. "I said that your brain will work this whole thing out on its own."

"No, no, no. That's not what you said. You said my brain can't keep the solution locked away."

Henry shrugged again. "Same difference."

But Shawn only shook his head. "No, it's not the same. It's not the same at all."

He pushed himself away from the counter and resumed his pacing.

_Right now we have five million dollars worth of di__amonds in our evidence locker._

_They never found the second guy._

Five million dollars worth of diamonds. In the evidence locker. At the police station.

They never found the second guy. The guy who got away. The guy who wanted to get away to Mexico with his partners and the diamonds.

Shawn spun around towards his father.

"You know all the protocol on evidence, and you know your way around the police station, right?"

Henry nodded. "Yes, I do. Of course I do. What's that got to do with anything?"

"I get the feeling that it's got everything to do with it. Tell me, what's the normal procedure on evidence?"

Henry was still following Shawn's pacing with his eyes. "It gets bagged and tagged, then it's logged in at the station and if necessary, it's sent to forensics for analysis. Once that's done, it's locked in the evidence locker at the station."

"But only until the trial begins, right?"

"Yes. Once the trial starts the evidence is brought to the court. It's kept under lock there for the duration of the trial. But what does all of that mean?"

Shawn felt a grin spread on his face as the synapses in his head lit up one after the other. It was all making sense, how could he have missed it until now?

"It means that he thought he didn't have time, Dad. The announcement that the trial was being postponed was only made today. If I hadn't lost my memory, it would have started in a few days. He didn't have time."

"Who didn't have time, Shawn? Time for what?"

But Shawn only shook his head as he stood in the middle of the kitchen. He felt the strange urge to bounce on the balls of his feet as the answers were slowly starting to form in his mind.

"Is there any way to get into the evidence locker?"

"What?"

What was it with the man? Did he have to answer every question with one of his own?

"The evidence locker at the police station, the room where right now five million dollars worth of diamonds are stored, is there any way to get into it?"  
Henry shook his head. "Not if you're not a cop. And even as an officer, you only get in there for logging evidence."

"Only for logging evidence?"

Henry nodded. "Yes, and you have to sign the ledger whenever you go into the evidence room. It's manned during the day shift, and during the night shift the chief officer on duty has to unlock the room if you want to log in evidence."

"So the evidence room is not manned from what, eight in the evening till eight in the morning?"

Henry nodded. "Yes. So if you wanted to get into the evidence locker, the best time would be at night. But of course you'd still need the key. The room has an alarm system, so you can't just break in."

"How many officers are in the station at night?"

Henry frowned as he thought. "That really depends. Dispatch is always manned, of course, as is the front desk. And there's always a core crew of maybe five to eight officers around, but of course there's people coming and going all night long. It really depends on how many arrests are made, and on how much the force is tied up outside the station.

Shawn was bouncing a little right now, but he just couldn't help it. It was getting clearer and clearer now. He finally understood what this was all about.

Of course it was the diamonds. It had to be the diamonds.

That second man from the mountain – Greg, that was his name – he had been cheated out of his share of the diamonds. His co-conspirators were all out of the game right now, which means he could have the entire diamonds for himself. He only needed to get to them.

But there was no way for a civilian to get into the evidence room at the station. Not through the door. But there was one other way to get into the evidence locker. Because even a windowless room had to be supplied with air.

_A maintenance guy in an overall, carrying a ladder while he went off to fix the air conditioning. A slightly baggy overall with sleeves that were too long – because the overall had been designed for somebody else._

If you couldn't get into a room through the door, you could always use the airshaft.

Damn it, now he knew what had been bugging him all day long. Now he knew what had been off. The maintenance guy, that's what had been off!

The guy who had mumbled something after they had bumped into each other. Normally, if you ran into a heavily laden maintenance worker, the first thing they did was yell at you for your inattentiveness. Only then they checked whether the ladder that had just hit your head had hurt you.

Of course you tended not to do that if you were a thug only pretending to be a maintenance worker, and if the person who had just run into you was the only person who could possibly identify your voice.

He had been within an inch of the man who had chased him and Lassiter down the mountain, he had literally run into him, and hadn't noticed!

And with free access to the air conditioning system, of course Greg had had ample time to set up his plan to get into the evidence locker. At night, when the police station wasn't as busy as it was during the day.

But there were still cops in the station, and it was entirely possible that somebody would come to log evidence while Greg was in the evidence locker to steal the diamonds. So how did he plan on doing it?

How did he plan on keeping the cops out of the evidence locker while he was in there?

What had his father said? It all depended on how much the nightshift forces were tied up outside the station.

Now what could Greg possibly do to keep them occupied somewhere else? How could he possibly do that?

Shawn had started pacing the room again, with his father's eyes following his every move.

"Tell me Dad, what kind of distraction would keep the officers out of the evidence locker for the entire night? What would be big enough?"

Henry drew breath to reply, but was interrupted by a renewed crackle of static from the police scanner.

_"Attention all units. Report to 243 Palomero Drive. An anonymous phone caller reported a bomb in Ocean Springs Shopping Mall. Repeat. All units report to Ocean Springs Shopping Mall for initiating evacuation proc__edures. Bomb squad alerted and on the way."_

"You know what, Dad? Never mind that. We need to get to the police station now!"

Henry frowned. "What?"

Shawn was already halfway to the door, but his father still hadn't moved from his chair. "Come on, Dad! We need to get to the station!"

Slowly, Henry got up from his chair. "But why?"

"Because right now, that second guy who tried to kill us on the mountain is breaking in to the evidence locker to steal the diamonds! Do I need to draw you a picture or are you coming?"  
Finally, the message seemed to have sunk in. Henry quickly grabbed for his jacket and pulled out his cell phone.

"I'll drive. You call the Chief."


	12. I don't know if this is the right time

**Chapter 12 – ****I don't know if this is the right time for a family trip**

Shawn ran out of the kitchen and through the living room towards the front door, his father hard at his heels. The truck was standing in the driveway, and Shawn bounced impatiently until Henry had reached the driver side door and unlocked the car.

"Would you finally tell me what's going on?"

"As soon as I've called the Chief. And now start the car, we need to get going!"

Henry started the engine of the truck, but before he could back out of the driveway a shadow detached itself from the front door of the house and hurried over towards the car. As she crossed the headlights, Shawn could clearly recognize his mother. But before he could even think about it, she had pulled open the passenger door and climbed up onto the seat. Shawn had no choice but to shift towards his father as she sat down and closed the door.

Henry let go of the key and turned to glare at his ex-wife.

"Margaret, what do you think you're doing?"  
"I was about to ask you the same thing. Do you honestly think you can run past me like that and expect me to just stay at the house and wait until somebody comes back with an explanation?"

"But you can't just come along, this could be dangerous…"

"Would you please just start driving, Dad?" Shawn interrupted before his parents could engage in a full blown fight and forget what this is really about. "That guy is most certainly not going to wait for you to finish your little discussion!"

Henry put the car into gear and backed out of the driveway.

Shawn opened his father's cell phone and started scrolling through the phone book. He as forcing himself very hard not to think about the fact that he was going to drive to a crime scene with his parents.

What kind of psychic detective took his _parents_ to a crime scene? This was ridiculous.

But his father was driving already and there was not a thing he could do about it, so he searched through the listed numbers until he found Chief Vick's cell phone number. For a second he wondered why his father even had that number, but then he simply pressed the send button and brought the phone up to his ear.

The line was occupied. Shawn disconnected and tried again, three more times, but the result was always the same. Since it wasn't even his own cell phone – right now, he didn't even know where his own cell phone was – Shawn started scrolling through the numbers until he found another name he recognized. Gus.

Again, Shawn pressed send and listened while it dialed. Gus answered after the second ring.

_"Burton Guster."_

"Gus, it's Shawn. Listen, I need you to try and reach either the Chief or that Detective O'Hara, as quickly as possible!"

_"Why? Why don't you call them yourself? What's going on, Shawn?"  
_"I don't have much time to explain, Gus. But it's important that they send someone over to the station immediately. That one guy who is left of that jewel theft crew is going to try and get the diamonds out of the evidence locker right now. He's got them all distracted with a fake bomb alert in Ocean Springs Shopping Mall and the Chief doesn't answer her phone. I don't have anybody else's number, I'm using my Dad's cell phone."

_"Okay, I'll try to call them. Where are you now?"_

"We're on our way to the station. I'll try to call ahead there, you do your best to get Chief Vick on the phone!"

_"Sure. I'll let you know once I get a hold of her."_

Shawn disconnected the call.

"Do you have the number for the police station in here?"

His father nodded, not taking his eyes off the road. "Yeah, Karen's office number, but you won't have much luck there if she's away. And dispatch, the main extension."

Shawn found the number after a bit more scrolling around.

The line was silent for a long moment after the dial-tone was gone, then suddenly he got the occupied signal. Shawn disconnected the phone with a frown.  
"What's wrong?" Margaret asked from the side.

"Occupied."

"That can't be." Henry was shaking his head vehemently. "The line can't be occupied. It's dispatch, for crying out loud, even if they're busy you should get a 'please hold' message."

"But it was occupied. I didn't just make that up."

His father's answer was to put his foot more firmly on the accelerator.

"What's wrong, Dad?"

"The only reason why you could get an occupied signal on that number is if the landline is cut off."

"You mean if somebody cut a cable somewhere?"

Henry shrugged. "That's one possibility, yes. If the landline is down for some reason, that means dispatch has to coordinate this whole bomb evacuation through radio. Which in turn means we can't reach them. If you dial 911, you'll be automatically put through to the next dispatch station with a working phone-line. And if Karen is trying to coordinate the scene under these conditions, it's unlikely that Gus is going to reach her, either."

Shawn leaned back in his seat and bit his lip. "Great. And what now? That guy could be trying to get to the diamonds right now, and nobody knows a thing! Isn't there anybody else we could call?"

Henry thought for a moment, then he nodded. "Call Lassiter."

Shawn frowned at the suggestion, but his fingers were already busy scrolling through the phone's stored numbers again. "Why Lassiter? I thought he was on suspension?"

"He is, but suspension or not, he's the head detective of the department. And because he's suspended he's not part of the team searching for the bomb. I don't know how many officers are left at the station right now, but I'm fairly sure he'd want to know about what's going on. And maybe he can get into contact with someone at the station."

The phone rang a few times, then it was picked up and a brusque voice answered.

_"Lassiter."_

"Detective, it's Shawn Spencer."

There was a moment of silence in the line. _"Spencer?"_

There was it again, that acid tone of voice. Shawn decided to ignore it for now.

"Yes. Listen Detective, this might sound crazy right now, but you need to get to the police station as quickly as possible."

_"Spencer, I assure you that I don't have to go there for over a week yet. Especially not this late in the evening. What possibly gave you the idea that I would…"_

"Listen, if you don't get your butt into gear right now, he's going to steal five million dollars worth of diamonds from the evidence locker! I highly doubt that you want that, am I right?"

_"__Who's he? And how would you know about what's going on at the station right now, Spencer?"_

Yes, that was a good question. How did he normally answer it? After all, he was supposed to be a psychic detective, that meant he had to get his information from the great beyond somehow. Not from logic deduction. But right now, he simply didn't have the time to figure out a good way to explain where his knowledge came from. They were wasting time here, and time was one thing they didn't have.

"I simply know it, all right? The spirits told me all about it. And it's not really important how I know it, because that guy is about to do it right now. I can't reach the Chief because she's trying to evacuate a shopping mall for a bomb that isn't even there, and you're the only one who can help now. So if it's not too much to ask of you, grab a gun, get into your car and do your job, all right?"

Shawn hung up before Lassiter even had a chance to answer. If anything, it might make Lassiter come to the station simply to yell at Shawn for disconnecting so abruptly.

As he put the phone into his pocket, Margaret leaned forward in her seat and looked at her son and ex-husband.

"Would somebody finally tell me what is going on here? What's all this talk about a bomb threat and somebody trying to steal diamonds?"  
Henry sighed and kept focused on driving to the station as quickly as possible, so Shawn decided to jump in before his mother was going to make a scene.

"The diamonds from that jewel heist are still in the evidence locker at the police station. That one guy whom the police didn't catch yet is trying to get them. He manipulated the air condition system in the station, and then somehow posed as the maintenance worker who was supposed to fix it."

"But why? What good would that do him?"

"Because there's no way for him to get into the evidence locker through the door, not without being detected. But there's an airshaft in the room, there has to be. Working on the air conditioning system gave him access to the plans of the airshafts, and he could prepare everything he needed to prepare to get into the evidence locker. He has to do it at night, when the station is emptier than during the day. And to make sure that nobody will come bursting into the room to log evidence while he's stealing the diamonds, he called in a bomb threat at that shopping mall which has a 24-hour sale this night. All available officers will be at the mall, and he can get away with the diamonds undisturbed."

Margaret shook her head. "But those are air-conditioning shafts. He couldn't fit through those."

"Yes he could. It's an old building, the airshafts were there before the air conditioning was installed. Old buildings always have larger airshafts. Right Dad?"

Henry nodded. "The air condition was installed during the eighties. As far as I know, it was integrated into the old airshafts."

"Working on the air conditioning system gave him plenty of opportunity to check out the way into the evidence locker, and to get rid of anything that might have been in his way. After all, who questions what a maintenance worker is doing as long as he gets the job done?"

Shawn had no idea where they were going, but after another minute or two they pulled into a street Shawn recognized. Soon the police station was coming into view, and Henry pulled the truck to a stop in front of it, right beside a red Crown Victoria from which Lassiter emerged just as Henry killed the engine.

Shawn climbed out of the car as soon as his mother had gotten out, and suddenly found himself on the receiving end of an incredulous glare from the detective.

"You brought your _parents_ to a crime scene, Spencer?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "It's not as if they asked me, Lassiter. And that is really not important now, is it? Did you reach anybody in the station?"

Lassiter shook his head. "No, the phone lines are down and the Chief doesn't answer her cell phone. How sure are you about this, Spencer?"

"100 sure, and now can we please go in there and see whether we're maybe not too late yet?"

Lassiter sighed. "Fine. But your mother stays here."

Margaret opened her mouth to protest, but Henry cut her off. "He's right Margaret. It's too dangerous. Wait in the car!"

Lassiter didn't seem too happy to have Henry come along, either, but the three of them turned towards the front steps and started towards the door without engaging in any further discussions. Margaret gave a disgruntled huff, but she crossed her arms in front of her chest and obediently remained standing by the car.

Shawn didn't even see that. He was busy trying to keep up with Lassiter as the head detective burst through the front door and immediately went over to the sergeant manning the front desk. The man was having a heated discussion with somebody over a two-way radio, and he raised a hand towards Lassiter in a gesture that told him to wait.

"Sergeant…"

"You'll have to wait until I'm finished with this!"

Lassiter reached across the front desk and took the radio out of the sergeant's hand.

"Hey, you can't…" Then the sergeant looked up and recognized who was standing in front of him. "Detective Lassiter?"

"Sergeant, who is in charge of logging evidence tonight?"

"Detective Monaghan, but sir, we're all extremely tied up right now. There's been a bomb threat in Ocean Springs Mall, and…"

"I didn't ask you for an update on what's gong on in the city tonight, I asked you who is in charge of evidence. I want you to find Monaghan and I want you to send him down to the evidence room ASAP, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Lassiter put the radio down in front of the desk sergeant and hurried down the corridor towards the staircase. The evidence locker was in the basement, and the three of them ran down the stairs as fast as possible.

Lassiter was leading the way, and Shawn noticed that he had pulled his gun and was holding it beside his leg, ready to bring it up at a moment's notice. He hadn't carried a gun when Shawn first met him, and since an officer on suspension was supposed to hand in his badge and gun for the time of the suspension, this had to be his private weapon.

The door to the evidence locker was at the end of yet another corridor, and nothing looked out of place. The corridor was empty, and the window beside the door which was used to log evidence during daytime when the evidence room was manned was closed and barred. They approached the door and Lassiter gave the door an experimental push. It hadn't been designed to be opened from the outside, and at Lassiter's push it didn't bulge. It was still locked.

A few moments later there were hurried steps in the corridor behind them, and the head detective spun around. Shawn saw how the hand holding his gun jerked slightly until he recognized the officer hurrying towards him. It was interesting. Lassiter might pretend not to believe Shawn's predictions, but here he was, at the station in the middle of the night on nothing but Shawn's word, and that had been enough to make him a bit jumpy.

Obviously, whatever Lassiter thought about Shawn's abilities, he did believe his track record.

"Detective Monaghan?"

The man hurrying towards them, a slightly heavyset officer of about thirty-five years with thinning hair, nodded.

"Yes. I was told there's a problem with the evidence lockup?"

Lassiter nodded. "There might be. Was anybody here to log evidence during the past hour?"

Monaghan shook his head. "No, it's been a rather quiet night. And then half an hour ago there was this bomb threat, and ever since then all active patrols are wound up there. Nobody has been down here since my shift began."

"I need you to unlock the door."

Monaghan stared at Lassiter as if he had grown a second head, then he gave the door a firm push of his own.

"See? It's locked. I just told you that nobody went in or out of that room since I took the keys at the start of my shift. Whatever your information is, it's wrong."

"Detective Monaghan, I believe I just gave you an order. Unlock the door. Do I really need to lay out in detail who the superior officer is?"

For a moment, Monaghan looked as if he might respond something to that, but then he shrugged and pulled out his keys. He fumbled through the large number of keys on the ring for a moment, then put one of the keys into the lock and turned it two times. There was the loud sound of a deadbolt disengaging, then Monaghan pulled the door open.

"May I ask what you are looking for, Detective Lassiter?"

Lassiter was already halfway in the room, Shawn hard at his heels.

"The diamonds from the jewel theft."

Shawn followed as the head detective moved through the room towards a cabinet in the far off corner. Boxes with evidence were standing in shelves all across the room, the boxes marked with case numbers and other abbreviations. But the more valuable pieces of evidence were kept in a locked cabinet in the room. It was an additional safety measure, more for insurance reasons than anything else. The room as such was already strongly secured, the locked cabinet should serve as a measure of security to prevent officers or other personnel from giving in to the temptation of taking something the weren't supposed to take.

And all that didn't matter right now.

Because the cabinet was open, the lock battered and bent, and on the floor beneath it lay a cardboard box with an evidence tag and a file number scrawled across it. Lassiter bent down and carefully turned the box around with the barrel of his gun so that he could read the label.

"Damn."

"They're gone, aren't they?"

Lassiter nodded at Shawn's words and got up from his crouch. "Yes, they're gone."

He turned towards Monaghan. "I want this station locked down right now. Get the CSU guys in here to run the scene. He came in through the airshaft, so I want somebody up there to look for evidence. Crawl through the entire airshaft system if necessary, but I want to know where he came in and which way he went. He must have left some trace behind. Check all video surveillance from this evening. He must have gotten in here somehow, and I want to know when, where and how. And get me the Chief on the radio ASAP!"

Monaghan was staring at the broken lock on the cabinet with a completely dumbfolded expression on his face, but he simply nodded when he heard Lassiter's sharp commands and pulled out his radio. There was a crackle of static and many hastily exchanged words as the four of them slowly went out of the evidence room and back into the corridor.

Monaghan had a hand buried in his rapidly thinning hair as he spoke on the radio. Henry was standing against one of the walls, his hands buried in his pockets and a pensive expression on his face. Lassiter was pacing the corridor in agitation, until Monaghan suddenly held out the radio to him.

"It's the Chief, detective."

Lassiter took the radio and pressed the button that allowed him to speak.  
"Chief, are you there?"

"Detective Lassiter, what are you doing giving orders to the officers on night shift?" Karen Vick's voice sounded hollow and tinny coming out of the speaker, and it sounded as I she was yelling hard against the background noise. "I thought I had been explicit about the details of your suspension, hadn't I?"

"Chief, I'm here because Spencer called me. Somebody broke into the evidence locker and stole the diamonds. The bomb threat was just a distraction to keep as many officers as possible out of the station during the break-in. Add that day to the time of my suspension if you like, but I think right now this is more important."

There was a moment of silence, then another burst of static as Karen pressed her speaker button again.  
"All right, you're in charge of the scene for the time being. But I can't just ignore a bomb threat to a shopping mall, not until bomb squad has declared the building safe. You'll have to work with whoever you got at the station right now, I can't draw anybody off from evacuation. I'll be there as soon as I can get away from here. Keep me apprised, detective."

"Understood Chief."

Lassiter ended the conversation, but instead of handing the radio back to an expectantly looking Monaghan, he clipped it to his own belt.

"All right Monaghan, you heard the Chief. You're in charge of the scene here. Instruct the CSU guys as soon as they get here, and all primary results will be relayed directly to me. Get yourself another radio as soon as CSU arrives, I'll be upstairs."

Lassiter turned and started to walk back towards the stairs at a brisk pace. Shawn and Henry had no choice but to follow him. Upstairs, the desk sergeant was still busy coordinating things on his own radio, and without as much as sparing the man another glance Lassiter went into the station proper and led the way to his desk.

A small group of officers, most of them in uniform and one wearing a suit which marked him as another detective were standing around one of the desks, staring at a computer monitor. Lassiter walked up towards them.

"What have we got?"

The detective, a younger man Shawn remembered seeing around the station a few times, turned towards Lassiter.  
"Monaghan called up with the order to check the surveillance tapes, that's what we're doing right now. I sent Kemper to get a recording of the 911-call about the bomb, for the audio as well as for a possible location where the call came from."

Lassiter nodded. "Good. Anything on the surveillance tapes yet?"

One of the uniformed officers entered a few commands into the computer. "We're still trying to figure out how he could get into the station, sir."

"Well, he certainly didn't come in through the front door! We know he used the airshafts, so why don't you look for possible access points on the outside of the building?"

The officer flinched and clicked with the mouse to change the feed from the surveillance tape so that it showed the rear of the building.

"There's an air conduit right here," the officer said as if to make up for his previous oversight. "It's where the airshafts from the south side of the building run together."

The camera on the back of the building didn't have the perfect angle to be watching the conduit, but it could be seen just on the left side of the screen. Lassiter bent forward to watch more closely, and Shawn subtly pushed one of the officers to the side so that he had a better view himself.

"Can you fast-forward that?"

The officer hit a key and the timestamp in the bottom corner of the picture started to run faster. They had started watching right before shift change, and at 8:32 pm suddenly a white panel van drove into view.

"There, slow it down again!"

The picture quality was grainy, but they could clearly see the figure of a man getting out of the van. He looked around once, but was too far away and the angle of the camera wasn't great, so there was no way to make an identification. But Shawn was sure that it was the maintenance guy he had bumped into the previous day.

The man looked around, picked up a bag and then he immediately went over towards the air conduit and removed a panel. He took something out of his backpack and it looked as if he was tying a rope around one of the drainpipes that came down from the roof of the building beside the air conduit. Then he vanished into the conduit.

Lassiter straightened up. "I want CSU to run that scene as soon as they're finished downstairs. Fast-forward until he comes back out again, sergeant."

Again, the timer started running faster, until not even fifteen minutes after he had vanished into the airshaft, the man came climbing out again. He untied the rope, put it back into his backpack, fixed the panel back onto the air conduit and got back into his car. It took less than a minute until he had driven off.

Lassiter straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. "All right. Check all other cameras to see if you get another shot of the van. We need to figure out what direction it came from. The plate was clearly visible, run it through the computer and find out who the car is registered to."

"Yes, sir."

With the sergeant typing away furiously at the computer, Lassiter took a step back and sighed deeply. Shawn was surprised that when the detective looked over towards him, there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Anything you want to add to that, Spencer? Any…psychic input from your side?"

Shawn only shook his head, and Lassiter grumbled something that wasn't understandable, but that was clearly not meant as a compliment.

Shawn turned towards his father. "What now?"

Henry shrugged. "If that guy isn't stupid, the plates on the van won't lead back to him. He's probably got another getaway car stored somewhere else. And he's got half an hour head-start. So whatever Lassiter is going to do next, he'd better do it really soon. The more time passes, the more likely the guy will be off, never to be seen again."

Both Shawn and his father looked up when suddenly there was a commotion in the corridor. A uniformed officer was hurrying along the hallway, desperately trying to keep the two other people storming off in front of him back. He didn't stand much chance, though, not with Gus who was completely ignoring the man, nor with Margaret who was giving the sergeant a death glare that would have sent little children off crying when he tried to hold her back by her arm.

Beside him, Shawn saw his father trying to stifle a grin.

Lassiter, on the other hand, didn't seem amused at all.

"Spencer, this is not a family vacation spot! This is a police station, in case you hadn't noticed. Get your mother out of here. Better yet, how about you all get out of here?"

But by then Margaret had reached them and didn't leave the detective any more time to say anything. She didn't even seem to see Lassiter at all as she turned the full force of her glare towards Henry.

"Did you honestly think I was going to stand around on the parking lot all night? Well, fat chance of that, Henry. I want to know what's going on."

Lassiter rolled his eyes and glared at Shawn, but Shawn only shrugged. "It's not as if they actually listen to anything I say. It's a waste of breath, detective."

Lassiter stared at Shawn's parents for a few moments, watching how the two had a vivid but not too loud discussion a few feet away, then he shook his head, sighed and turned back towards the sergeant working on the computer.

Shawn turned to greet Gus.

"Is our work at the police station always this exciting?"

Gus only raised his eyebrows and shook his head. It seemed as if he was struggling to find the right words, and what finally came out was the one sentence Shawn didn't want to hear.

"You brought your _parents_? Really Shawn? You brought your parents to the police station?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I didn't bring them, they brought themselves. It's a long story."

"Yeah, I can imagine that. I couldn't reach the Chief, so I thought I'd just come here and see what has happened."  
"It's all right, Lassiter already spoke to her."

Gus nodded. "Good. And now, would you finally tell me what's going on?"

Shawn brought Gus up to speed with the latest developments. It didn't take that long, seeing that he had told the story what seemed like a hundred times already. When he was finished, Gus looked a little taken aback.

"So he's gone now, just like that?"

Shawn shrugged. Pretty much, yes. We'll have to see whether he left any trace of where he went, but it's going to be a while until CSU gets any results."

"And you didn't notice anything downstairs in the evidence room?"

Shawn shook his head. "No. He cracked the lock to the cabinet that held the diamonds, but it wasn't the world's safest lock to begin with. No need to subscribe to _Safecracker's Magazine_ to get past that one. He came and left through the airshaft, and he didn't bother to take the evidence box along. But he had a backpack with him, so he must have had something to store the diamonds in with him. And my guess is that by the time they find any traces he might have left, he'll be long gone, anyway."

"Which means there's nothing to go on."

Shawn nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what it means."

It was back to square one. All the excitement about cracking the mystery behind the maintenance guy was blown away with the revelation that he was long gone by now. What did it matter if he had figured it out if the guy got away?

Judged by the expression on Lassiter's face, the detective was thinking along similar lines. He was glowering darkly at everybody and nobody in particular while the officers around him were carrying out his various orders.

"Sir, the plates on the van came back to a matching white van belonging to a small delivery company. It was reported stolen a week ago."

Lassiter nodded. "Still, check with the owner and the employers for their whereabouts of this evening. It wouldn't be the first time that a false report was filed."

The sergeant nodded and picked up the phone.

Shawn watched Lassiter closely. The head detective's demeanor was grumpy and sour-faced, but Shawn thought he could nearly see the wheels in his head turning. He knew that the same thoughts that had been occupying him were going through Lassiter's head right now. The more time they wasted looking for clues, the more time Greg had to make his getaway. They had one up on him since he probably didn't know yet that they were already after him, but they needed to make something out of that advantage.

"Detective!"

Shawn turned along with Lassiter to face the sergeant who came hurrying towards them.

"Kemper, what is it?"

"The techs are still working on the phone call, to see if there's anything else they can find out, an accent or background noise. But we have a location!"

Lassiter rolled his eyes impatiently. "Then just tell me where the call came from and tell me everything else once there is something worth reporting."

Kemper gulped, his big Adam's apple bouncing in his throat. "The call came from a public pay phone on the corner of Barclay and Ninth."

Again, Shawn had the distant feeling that something clicked.

But what was it?

Barclay and Ninth, why did that seem important? Where had he heard that before? Or seen it? His memory consisted of only a few days, how hard could it be to remember why that seemed important?

"Detective, where do you have the file?"

Lassiter turned towards Shawn, a frown on his face. "What file, Spencer?"

"The one I was looking through yesterday, the file from the initial jewel theft."

"It should be with the Chief. I have a copy of the initial reports in my drawer, but why…"

But Shawn no longer listened. He was hurrying over towards the detective's desk – easily recognizable because it was the only desk that currently looked unused – and pulled open the drawers. He found what he was looking for in a thin folder right in the top drawer, pulled it out and started rifling through the papers and reports contained within the folder.

"Spencer, what in the name of all that's good do you think you're doing? These are confidential papers in my own private desk. Your little dog and pony show gives you no right to…"

"Barclay and Ninth!" Shawn called out triumphantly as he had found what he had been looking for, right where he remembered to have seen it before. In Lassiter's statement concerning the events that had led to them getting captured by the jewel thieves.

But Lassiter obviously had problems making that connection.

"What?"

"Barclay and Ninth," Shawn repeated, stabbing the words on the page furiously. Sergeant Kemper just said that the 911 call about the bomb came from a public phone on Barclay and Ninth, and I knew I had heard that before."  
Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Everybody who lives in Santa Barbara has heard those two names before, Spencer."

"But everybody who lives in Santa Barbara doesn't have a memory which doesn't stretch back any farther than the last two and a half days, all right? I knew I had heard them before in connection to this case, and here it is!"

"Here is what?"

Shawn sighed and drew a deep breath, as if he had to explain a difficult problem to a particularly thick child.

"You do remember the warehouse where the two of us had that first run in with our friends of the jewel-robbing persuasion?"

"Yes, of course I do."  
Shawn nodded. "And now guess the address of the warehouse."

"That can't be."

"I'm afraid it is, Detective."

Lassiter tore the file out of Shawn's hands and started scanning his own witness statement, as if in utter disbelief about the fact that he could have forgotten about such an important fact. But maybe it was more difficult to remember something like this if your memory contained more than sixty hours.

Lassiter scanned the page for a moment, then he dropped it onto his desk, turned around and started hurrying out of the station, barking orders as he went.

Shawn hesitated only for a second, then he started after Lassiter.

If they were lucky, maybe there was still a chance to catch Greg before he and the diamonds vanished for good.


	13. If I hadn't lost my memory, I'm sure

**Chapter 13 – If I hadn't lost my memory, I'm sure this would be**** a déjà vu**

Shawn didn't think, he simply ran. Out of the police station and into the parking lot. Lassiter and another two uniformed officers got into the detective's car and rushed off from the parking lot. Obviously, Lassiter didn't intend to take Shawn along for the ride.

But there was a fat chance he was just going to sit here and wait idly until this whole thing was over. No way.

Gus was running beside him, and then Shawn saw Gus' little blue car in the parking lot. He hurried over towards the passenger side as his friend unlocked the car.

"What about your parents?" Gus asked as he put the key in the ignition.

Shawn pulled the safety belt across his chest and locked it in place. "Weren't you the one who was mocking me for bringing them along in the first place? Just follow Lassiter!"

Gus started the car and pulled it out of the parking lot.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to follow Lassiter to the warehouse?"  
"It sure beats waiting around, Gus."

"I'm just saying because the last time you and Lassiter went to that place, a lot of bad things went down."

Shawn shrugged. "At least this time has backup. Wasn't that the reason why he was put on suspension in the first place? Come on, what can possibly happen? That guy Greg is alone, and there's three cops in Lassiter's car, with more probably on their way already."

Gus shook his head and continued to drive. It took a few minutes, then they were leaving the inner city and the buildings around them began to look more industrial. There was no traffic, no people out on the street and the industrial buildings around them looked dark and empty.

"That's Barclay coming up." Gus said as they approached an intersection. They saw Lassiter's car parked in front of one of the warehouses. Neither Lassiter nor the other officers were in sight, but as Gus turned the corner and drove into the street, they could see a light coming from the inside of the warehouse.

Gus slowed down, but Shawn put up a hand. "Keep driving."

Gus frowned in confusion, but took his foot of the brake. "Why?"

"Go around the back. There had to be a loading zone in the back. Lassiter's car is pretty much blocking the front way out of the building, but the back is wide open."

Gus stepped on the accelerator and continued to drive down the street.

"There, take that turn!"

Gus turned the car into a side road that led to the backside of the warehouses.

"And what now?"

Before Shawn had the chance to answer, there was the sound of squealing tires from the right. A black sedan came racing out the back of the warehouse.

"There, that's him!"

Shawn excitedly pointed at the headlights approaching them.

"Shawn, he's coming right towards us!"

Gus made move to drive their car out of the way, but Shawn leaned over towards the driver's side and put his hands on the steering wheel beside Gus'.

"What are you doing?"

"Just keep going! We can't let him get past us!"

"Shawn, this is madness! Let go of the wheel! He's going to drive right into us!"

"No he's not! Come on Gus, he's not stupid. He wants to get away, not crash into our car."

"It's _my_ car, Shawn, not ours. _My_ car. My _company_ car!"

Their speed was decreasing, and Shawn took one hand off the steering wheel and pushed down Gus' right knee. The engine revved as Gus' foot was pushed down on the accelerator.

"Shawn!"

"Trust me Gus, I know what I'm doing!"

Gus was breathing harshly now. "The last time you said that, I spent three hours in the ER, getting the splinters pulled out of my backside by a nurse called Geraldo!"

"Gus, a little focus here!"

Greg's car was closing the distance towards them rapidly now, but with Shawn holding the car straight in the middle of the narrow road, there was no way for him to get past them.

"Shawn, this is not the right time for a chicken race. He's not slowing down!"

Shawn didn't answer, he kept his one hand firmly on the steering wheel and the other one pressing Gus' foot down on the accelerator as the headlight's of Greg's car approached them.

Gus started making a squealing noise, and Shawn glanced at his friend from the corner of his eyes for a brief moment.

"Gus, open your eyes! Damn it, keep your eyes on the road!"

"He's going to kill us! We're going to die! We're going to die and it's all your fault!"

Greg's car still didn't make any move of slowing down, and for a moment Shawn was getting worried that Gus might actually be right this time.

But then suddenly Greg's car swerved to the right and drove into the narrow alley between two other warehouses. Sparks flashed as his front fender scratched along the side of one of the buildings, but Greg kept on driving down the alley without slowing down.

Instinctively, Shawn pulled the steering wheel of the Echo around to follow. Distantly, he heard Gus screaming into his ear, hands flailing at Shawn's hand, trying to pull it off the steering wheel.

"Shawn, you're going to kill us!"  
Shawn couldn't hold the wheel with just his left hand, so he brought his right hand up as well and held on for dear life. The Echo was fishtailing slightly, but by some miracle it made the turn and they drove into the alley, Greg's taillights a few meters ahead of them.

"What were you trying to do? Flatten us against a wall?"

"Gus, just keep driving, all right? And give me your phone, we need to call Lassiter!"  
"I'm not going to take my hand off the steering wheel, Shawn!"  
"You had no problems taking your hands off while we were making a lethally dangerous ninety degree turn at sixty miles an hour!"

"You made that turn! I didn't want to make that turn! It could have killed us!"

"It didn't, all right? So stop whining and focus on driving, hanging all over the seats like this isn't fun either!"  
Gus drew a breath to reply, but suddenly the alley opened up to a space behind the warehouses. An empty backyard, which was entirely surrounded by a wall about six feet high.

Greg had driven straight into a dead end.

The black sedan's brake lights flashed as Greg stopped the car. The driver's side door opened and a figure clad in black got out. The backyard wasn't illuminated properly, but their headlights provided enough light to make out Greg as he put on a backpack and climbed up onto the hood of the sedan.

"What's he doing?" Gus mumbled.

"Stop the car!"

"What?"

"Stop the car, Gus!"

Gus stepped on the brakes and Shawn quickly unbuckled his seat belt.

"Call Lassiter!"

"Wait, where are you going? Shawn!"

But Shawn was already out of the car and running over towards the sedan standing against the wall. Greg was moving from the hood of the car to its roof. It was obvious what he was trying to do.

He was climbing the car to get over the wall, and as soon as he was over it he'd get lost in the alleys and side roads of the industrial park they were in.

Shawn couldn't let that happen.

If Greg got away now, they'd never see any trace of him or the diamonds again.

Shawn ran over towards the sedan as fast as he could, one corner in the back of his mind hoping feverishly that Gus was not too dazed to think about calling Lassiter.

One big leap and Shawn was on the hood of the car. Greg had already grabbed the top of the wall and was trying to boost himself up and over.

Shawn jumped.

One foot on the windshield, he jumped and made a grab for Greg's midsection. He slammed into the other man, grabbling for a hold on him around his chest. His cast scratched along the wall and he was sure that the rough surface of the wall sliced the skin clear off his knuckles, but Shawn simply grabbed Greg's shirt and wrapped his right arm around Greg from the other side.

Gravity did the rest.

Shawn held on to the struggling man for dear life as the momentum of his leap made Greg lose his hold on the wall. Greg rammed an elbow back, trying to dislodge Shawn from his back, but Shawn was single-mindedly focused on holding on to his death grip around Greg's chest.

One moment Greg was holding on to the top of the wall, the next they were falling.

And falling.

Shawn knew where this was going. He was going to land underneath Greg, and that was going to hurt. Falling from a six feet high wall was going to hurt, anyway. Shawn had ample experience with falls from that height. But falling flat on his back with a two-hundred pound guy falling on top of him was going to Hurt. With a capital H.

Shawn twisted and turned, trying to shift their position so that he was going to end up on top of Greg, but it was a lost cause. While their fall seemed to last endlessly, it didn't take more than a second, maybe a second and a half.

There was not enough time.

Shawn landed hard on the rough cement, his head impacting with the ground a moment later. Bright stars exploded behind his eyelids, and then a crushing weight settled on his chest as Greg landed atop of him. Shawn's bruised ribs sent bursts of white hot agony through his body as Greg's body impacted on him, and he couldn't breathe.

He couldn't breathe.

Greg's weight was crushing him, and Shawn had taken the brunt of the impact.

He was still holding onto Greg in an awkward perversion of a hug, but already Greg was starting to shift around on top of him.

Shawn tried to tightened his grip, but his body wasn't fully obeying his command, and trapped below Greg's body as he was, Shawn was at the clear disadvantage.

Drawing in a few wheezing breaths, Shawn tried to bring up enough leverage and energy to shift them around and end up on top of Greg. But before he could even try to bring up one of his legs to boost them around, Greg started struggling for real.

Shawn felt how the other man's right hand was moving towards the waistband of his pants. Only now did Shawn become aware of the obvious bulge there.

Greg had a gun.

And he was trying to get to it.

With his right hand still clinging to Greg in a death grip, Shawn moved his left to try and bat Greg's hand away from the gun.

Greg grunted and brought a forearm down over Shawn's throat and pushed down. Shawn chocked as suddenly his airway was blocked off and he couldn't draw air into his lungs anymore.

Greg was trying to get to his gun for real now. With his head bent back by the arm across his throat Shawn couldn't see anything but the darkness of the sky above him and Greg's face an angry mask in front of that background, but he could feel Greg's struggle to close his hand around the butt of his gun and pull it.

The edges of Shawn's vision began to darken, and he knew that he couldn't keep Greg from grabbing his gun for any longer. He couldn't breathe, he didn't have any leverage to shift their position, and his strength would not last for much longer. Either he was going to suffocate, or Greg would pull his gun and shoot him.

Neither possibility was very appealing.

Shawn tried to draw a last desperate breath, but no matter how much his lungs were screaming for precious oxygen, there was no way to get it past the forearm obstructing his windpipe.

And then suddenly Greg's hand broke free and Shawn knew that he had managed to pull the gun.

A feral grin spread on Greg's angry visage and as Shawn looked into the man's eyes he knew what was going to happen next.

Desperately, Shawn tried to make a grab for the gun.

_Lassiter was a dead weight attached to his right arm as he lunged forward and reached for the gun. He felt his fingers around the butt of the weapon, but then Herb was there, trying to pry his fingers off. They fell to the floor in a tumbled heap, Herb atop of him, and then something was pulling at his hand, his finger was tightening on the trigger, and in a deafening explosion the gun went off._

_Herb fell on top of him, heavy and lifeless, his blood running down Shawn's hands which were still clenched around the gun. Herb's wide eyes were staring down at him, glazed over and devoid of life. Life which Shawn had taken._

_He couldn't breathe._

_He couldn't breathe and he couldn't move. He struggled, but he couldn't move Herb's body just an inch away from himself. The dead man's weight was crushing him. He was chocking on the weight of the life he had taken, and still the blood was running over his hands…_

Greg brought the gun around just as Shawn felt his precious hold on consciousness slipping.

What was taking Lassiter so long to come here?

In a last act of desperation, Shawn let go off the gun and pulled his left arm away.

_"Make no mistake Shawn, I will kill you."_

_"I think our last scuffle proves otherwise."_

_"Okay, first of all I was six, and I had a cast!"_

_"Which many would constitute as a clear advantage. It's like having a weapon attached to your arm."_

Shawn didn't know where those words suddenly came from, but they were echoing through his head so loudly that they drowned out all other thoughts.

In a daze, Shawn brought up his left arm and slammed the cast against the side of Greg's head with as much force as he could still muster.

The last thing Shawn was consciously aware of was the surprised look on Greg's face, the sound of a gun discharging and then everything went black.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Lassiter had run off.

Shawn had run off.

There was no way in hell Henry was going to sit back and wait at the police station for them to come back. There weren't enough people around to try and stop him.

Before Shawn had even vanished down the corridor, Henry was hard at his heels on his way to the parking lot.

He unlocked his truck and got into the driver's seat just as Gus' little blue car drove off the parking lot and down the road at a speed definitely not within the inner city speed limit. He quickly put the key in the ignition and started the truck when suddenly the passenger side door was opened and Margaret climbed up on the seat.

Henry drew breath to say something, but then he decided that it would be a waste of air. If Margaret had gotten it into her head to come along, no amount of discussion was going to change her mind. And right now it was more important not to lose Shawn and Gus before they got themselves into more trouble than they could handle.

Henry wordlessly put the truck into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. Gus' car was already further down the road, and Henry pushed the engine as he struggled to stay up.

"So that's what Shawn does?"

Not taking his eyes off the road, Henry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean whether that's what our son does for a living! Chasing after criminals like that, without a single thought about his own safety?"

Henry shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"

"What I want you to say, Henry? Oh, I don't know!" She huffed audibly. "Maybe 'No, that's not what he's doing on a daily basis.' Or maybe 'no, of course I'd never let our only child run down armed and dangerous criminals.' Something along those lines would be comforting!"

"It's not as if I had any influence on what that kid does or doesn't, Margaret. Shawn chose that job, and I keep telling him to let the cops to the police work and keep his nose out of it. But Shawn never listens, so don't start blaming me for this."

"Oh, and of course you are in no way responsible for this!"

Henry frowned and took his eyes off the road for a second to look at his ex-wife. Margaret was giving him one of her patented glares, and it annoyed him that the fact that he was on the receiving end of one of those glares still got to him.

"Why in the world would I be responsible for it? What do I have to do with Shawn's rash decision to chase after a guy who already tried to kill him once?"  
"Because it's what you trained him to do! You're ingrained all this into him ever since he was old enough to walk, it's no small wonder that he's doing those things now. He nearly got killed once already, Henry!"

Angrily, Henry turned a corner far more quickly than he needed to. The tires squealed and left a clear trace of rubber on the asphalt as he accelerated further.

"I wanted Shawn to become a cop, Margaret. I never wanted for him to fool everybody with his little psychic act and get head over heels into situations that he can't control. That was his own choice. I wanted for him to keep up the family tradition, to use his skills to solve crimes responsibly. With the proper training, skills and backup. I only taught him what he needed to know, how he uses his skills is solely his decision. So don't start the old blame game with me. I've got a newsflash for you. Shawn is thirty years old. He no longer asks for my permission for everything he does!"

"No, but he wants to rub it into your face that he's found the ultimate way to reach the skills you taught him without doing it your way."

"So it's all about me again! Great! It's all my fault. Of course, I should have known. Now that this is settled, could we maybe focus on the things at hand now? Like the fact that right now we need to stop Shawn before he gets himself head over heels into even more trouble!"

Henry pulled the car into Barclay and strained his eyes for any sign of Gus' car. There was Lassiter's red Crown Victoria, parked in front of what he assumed was the warehouse where it had all begun. But there was no trace anywhere of the little blue car that Gus and Shawn had taken to get here.

He sped past Lassiter's parked car, trying to find out where his wayward son had vanished to.

"Where are you going? Isn't this the detective's car?"

Just then there was the sound of tires squealing from somewhere on the backside of the warehouses.

"What was that?" Margaret asked, her voice tense.

Henry just kept on driving, his jaw clenched tightly. Finally he spotted a road branching off to the right and turned the truck into it.

"Where are we going?"

"They must be in the back somewhere, that's where we're going."

They emerged onto a more narrow road running behind the warehouses. As Henry turned to the right and started driving into the direction of the warehouse where Lassiter's car was parked, two figures came running towards them. One was Lassiter, the other one of the uniformed officers who had been at the station earlier.

Henry put his foot further down on the accelerator, and they reached the two men just as they were about to turn into a narrow alley leading off the road.

Henry didn't even take the time to kill the engine as he jumped out of the truck and ran over towards Lassiter.

"What happened?"

Lassiter didn't break stride as he turned into the alley. His answers were clipped and short as he struggled for breath.

"He got away. Pistol whipped Sanchez. Guster called, they're in here. Alley's a dead end."

Both Lassiter and the other officer – Kemper, that was his name – had their guns drawn as they ran through the alley. For the first time in years Henry wished that he had brought his own piece with him, as well. But it was lying in his gun safe at home, safely locked away.

It was too dark ahead to see anything, and the flashlights Lassiter and Kemper were carrying only managed to penetrate the darkness a few yards ahead of them.

Henry became aware of steps closely behind him and turned around.

He shouldn't have been surprised to see Margaret running behind him.

He shouldn't have been.

But he was.

But just as Henry opened his mouth to tell her to stay back and wait until it was safe, the sound of a gunshot rang deafeningly through the silence of the industrial park.

Henry's heart skipped a bit, and he saw Margaret grow a ghostly white, then he was running again. Henry ran faster than he remembered running in all his years on the police force, towards the end of that alley.

Towards where that gunshot had come from.

Towards where his son was.


	14. A whole life, all in one day

I know it's been a while, sorry. Real life kept me busy and I simply forgot to update the story. I hope you can forgive me ;-)

* * *

**Chapter 14 – A whole life, all in one day**

The alley seemed endless.

The echo of four pairs of feet running along at full speed sounded reflected back from the walls, and the only other thing Henry heard was the sound of his own breathing sounding harsh and too fast in his ears.

Margaret was still running a few steps behind him, and for some strange reason amongst all the chaotic jumble of thoughts and emotions running through his head, Henry asked himself whether she was overexerting herself. All the stress of the past hours, no make that of the past _days_, and now a high speed foot chase through a dark alley couldn't be good for her heart. The last thing he needed was for Margaret to collapse now.

He wondered how he still had any capacity to worry about Margaret left. Not even half a minute ago he had heard a gunshot from the direction where his son was.

Somebody had fired a gun in Shawn's vicinity.

And there had been no sound since that one single gunshot.

No second gunshot.

Not that it was a bad thing. No second gunshot could be a very good thing.

But there had been nothing after the gunshot. Simply nothing. No yelling, no loud fighting sounds, nothing. Maybe they were simply too far away to hear anything, but there was one thing Henry had learned during his years as a cop.

Silence was never good.

Silence when arriving at the scene of a domestic disturbance wasn't good.

Silence after a car crash was bad.

Silence after a gunshot was horribly, horribly bad.

It took them only a few seconds to reach the end of the alley, but to Henry it felt like one of those dreams when you're running away from something, your feet are moving but you just don't make any headway.

The alley ended in a large yard, two sides of which were enclosed by buildings and the other two enclosed by a wall that was at least six feet high.

Gus' car was standing near the entrance of the alley, its headlights illuminating a scene that made Henry's heart stop for a couple of beats.

A black sedan was standing against the wall ahead. In front of that car, Shawn was on the ground, lying on his back with another man lying right on top of him. A gun was lying on the ground next to Shawn's left side, and there was blood.

A lot of blood.

Henry's stomach churned.

There was no way to tell whether the blood was Shawn's or the other guy's. And neither of them was moving.

Gus was right next to the two of them, oblivious to the arrival of the others on the scene. He was completely focused on trying to pull the other guy off of Shawn.

Despite the shock and the blood-freezing terror Henry felt, he was the first to arrive at Shawn's side. Wordlessly, he bent down and together he and Gus managed to move the guy away from Shawn. He rolled to the side like a limp rag doll, but Henry didn't care. He wouldn't have cared if the guy had broken in half right now. He knelt down next to his son and though he was afraid of what he would find, he started to look Shawn over for injuries. He addressed Gus without even looking away from his son.

"Gus, what happened?"

"He…he wanted to get over the wall. Shawn stopped him and they struggled. I called Lassiter. Shawn told me to call Lassiter. And then Shawn tried to hit him and there was a shot and…I don't know, Mr. Spencer. I think he shot Shawn. And then I grabbed the first thing I found in my car and hit that guy over the head."

Henry had noticed the tire iron lying beside Gus' feet even before he had knelt down. So the blood all over Shawn's face wasn't his, that was good. Nevertheless, Henry carefully felt the sides of Shawn's head for any wounds. There were none, just a big bump on the back of Shawn's head.

There was more blood on Shawn's left side though, blood that had nothing to do with the blood all over Shawn's face and head.

With frantic movements, Henry started to pull Shawn's shirt out of his pants. He didn't even hear all the voices in the background, nor did he notice Margaret falling to her knees beside him, yelling things into his ear which he couldn't hear over the blood pounding in his ears.

Shawn was bleeding from a wound in his side, a long scratch about half an inch in width at about the height of his navel. The skin around the wound was looking red and burnt, and Henry immediately knew what had happened.

That gunshot had been aimed at Shawn.

And it had missed him, but barely. It had scratched along his side, and judged by the burns the gun hadn't been too far away from Shawn's body by the time the shot had been fired. No life threatening wound. Even the blood loss wasn't that bad. But if Shawn was conscious, as soon as Shawn was conscious, it would hurt like hell.

But that was the problem.

Shawn wasn't conscious.

His eyes were closed, and he was gasping for breath.

Henry didn't know why. Shawn's ribs were bruised and battered, but they had already been bruised from his motorcycle accident. There was no obvious reason why Shawn should have trouble breathing.

Henry hooked a finger into the collar of Shawn's polo shirt and pulled the fabric away slightly.

Shawn's throat was red, and bruises were already starting to show on the skin across his throat. Henry felt his own throat close up at the sight.

"Damn it Gus, what happened?"

"I…I don't know. I think that guy tried to choke him."

Henry shifted around behind Shawn's head, not caring that he had to push Margaret out of the way to get there. Gently, he put one hand underneath Shawn's neck to hold it steady, then lifted Shawn up into a sitting position with the other. He knew that he shouldn't move Shawn right now. He knew that he should wait for the paramedics to arrive. But Shawn wasn't getting enough air, and right now getting him to breathe again was the most important thing. Henry quickly moved in behind Shawn and supported him against his own chest.

Shawn's breathing was getting more and more rapid, hitching and wheezing as he tried to suck air into his lungs.

"Easy kid," Henry whispered into Shawn's ear. "Just take slow, deep breaths. Help will be here any minute."

Shawn was a limp weight against Henry's chest, but after a few moments his breathing started to come a little easier. It still didn't sound completely normal, but at least Shawn seemed to get some air into his lungs now.

"That's it, buddy. Just keep breathing. Help is on its way."

It was obvious that while Shawn was breathing a little more easily now, he was still struggling for each breath. Henry put a hand on Shawn's chest and felt his son's heartbeat pulsing rapidly against his palm. But he could also feel how Shawn's breaths were getting a little deeper with every time he inhaled, that was something.

"It's all right Shawn. Just breathe. I've got you. It's over now, everything is all right."

There was a touch to his shoulder, and only then did Henry became aware of his surroundings again. It was as if his eardrums popped from pressure and suddenly the sounds were getting past his ears and into his head again.

There were people talking in the background, Margaret was talking beside him so rapidly that it was impossible to make out the actual words, and in the distance there were sirens approaching.

But the touch on Henry's shoulder came from his other side, where he found Lassiter crouching beside him.

"The ambulance should be here in two minutes. Was he shot?"

Henry nodded. "Bullet graze in his left side, but it doesn't look life threatening. He's having trouble breathing, though. Obviously the guy tried to choke him."

"Well, the other guy is definitely off worse. Now I know that I wouldn't want to face Guster when he's wielding a tire iron."

Henry looked up at the guy lying a few feet beside them, and at Gus standing a few feet in the background, arms crossed in front of his chest and staring nervously over towards Shawn.

"Is he dead?"  
Lassiter shook his head. "Nah. Got a pretty bad gash on his head, and probably he'll have a murder headache for the next couple of days, but he's breathing all right and his heartbeat's steady. I don't think he's in any serious danger. Guster isn't exactly Tiger Woods."

Henry nodded and focused his attention back on his son. He didn't particularly care whether that bastard was alive or not. The only good thing about that guy still being alive was that it meant Gus hadn't killed him. Henry didn't particularly care about anything else.

The sound of the sirens was getting closer now, and Henry suffered through maybe a minute more of watching his son struggle for each breath until an EMT knelt down beside him.

"What happened to him, sir?"

Henry began recounting what he knew of his son's injuries, shocked at how long the list was. Gunshot wound to the side. Trouble breathing because some bastard tried to choke off his airway. Bruised ribs, though that injury was older. Broken arm, obviously. Too many concussions over the past weeks to keep track of them.

The EMT listened patiently, his eyes roaming over Shawn's body as if to visually check every injury Henry mentioned.

And then it all happened very fast. An oxygen mask was fitted over Shawn's face and then the two EMTs started to fasten a neck brace around Shawn's neck. Henry felt his heart start beating fast in his throat as he saw how the men fastened the tight plastic contraption around his son's throat.

"I told you that somebody just tried to choke him! I don't think wrapping a tight brace around his neck is going to help him breathe!"

One of the EMTs looked up, but made no move to remove the offending brace.

"Sir, you also said that he fell and landed on his back and head. He could have an injury to his spine, I'm afraid that the c-collar is necessary. But it's not in any way restricting his breathing, there really is no need to worry."

Despite the reassurance, Henry watched like a hawk how they finished fixing the neck brace in place and carefully moved Shawn onto a gurney.

Before Henry knew what was happening, the doors of the ambulance closed and it drove off with flashing lights. Henry just stood there, staring after it for a few long seconds, unable to do anything or even think straight.

It took a few seconds until his mind started working again. At low capacity, but still. At least it was working again.

He saw another pair of medics lift the still unconscious guy onto another gurney in preparation to drive him off towards the hospital as well.

Gus was still standing in the same spot, with his hands now jammed into his pocket. More uniformed officers had arrived at the scene, along with Karen and Detective O'Hara. The two were standing on either side of Gus, and O'Hara was talking to him. Gus merely nodded silently while he was staring down at his feet.

Margaret was standing beside Henry, and she looked so shaky on her legs that Henry asked himself how she had managed to get up again in the first place. Tears were running down her face and she stared fixedly at the blood staining the cement.

Henry took a step towards her.

"Margaret?"

Margaret's shoulders shook as she suppressed a sob and slowly turned her face towards Henry. She made no attempt to say anything, though, she just stared fixedly at a point somewhere to the left of Henry's chin.

"Margaret, look at me please."

Slowly, Margaret met Henry's eyes.

"Hey, it's okay."

Margaret shook her head. "No. It's not okay. Shawn was shot, and there was all this blood…there was so much blood."

Henry put both hands on Margaret's shoulders. "It wasn't Shawn's."  
Margaret was still shaking her head. "But all the blood…"

"It wasn't Shawn's blood, Margaret." Henry waited until he was sure that his ex-wife was really listening to what he was saying. "It wasn't Shawn's blood. It was the other guy's. I know it looked bad, but head wounds bleed a lot. Gus did a pretty good job on him."

"But Shawn was shot. You said so yourself, you said that he shot Shawn."  
Henry nodded. "In the side. A graze, the bullet didn't fully hit him. He'll be all right."

Margaret was still shaking her head, and there were still tears running down her face. Henry asked himself whether all his years as a cop had maybe hardened him too much, whether Margaret's reaction wasn't the more natural one to finding your only child lying in some dingy backyard, covered in blood.

Maybe any reaction short of an emotional breakdown meant that he was just as hard and uncaring as Shawn always accused him of being.

It seemed that Margaret either hadn't heard or didn't want to hear Henry's words, so he put his hands on both her cheeks, framing her face.

"Meg. Meg, look at me."

After a moment, Margaret did.

"I want you to listen to me now, okay?"  
She nodded. "Okay."  
"Good. Shawn will be fine. He's roughed up, but he's not hurt badly. He has a bullet graze in the side, he hit his head and his throat is bruised. But he will be all right. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

Again, Margaret nodded. "Yes."

"He's going to be all right."  
"Okay."

Margaret bit her lip, and it was obvious that she was still struggling against the tears threatening to fall.

"How can you be so damn calm in a moment like this, Henry? How can you be so calm when you find Shawn lying there like dead, when you have to watch him struggle for each breath? How can you be so damn calm?"

There was anger and accusation in Margaret's voice, but Henry knew his ex-wife well enough to know where those feelings were coming from. He knew that they weren't directed at him, that Margaret was simply searching for an outlet to vent off all the emotions she couldn't deal with before they drove her mad.

He pulled one hand away from her cheek and put it on the back of her head.

"I'm calm so that you can let it all out, okay? If you want to lose it completely just so that it's out of your system, go ahead and do it. That's why I'm calm, so that you don't have to be."

Margaret made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, and for the second time one day Henry could think of nothing else to do but pull Margaret against him. She leaned her head against his shoulder with another choked half-sob, half-sigh.

"I just don't understand why something like that happens to Shawn twice in less than three weeks. He could have died. If that shot hadn't missed him, he could have died. He could be dead now Henry."

Something clenched around Henry's heart at those words. It was not the first time that he thought about the possible consequences of his son's job. He wasn't always good at showing it, but he was worried about Shawn more often than not.

Actually, he was nearly constantly worried about Shawn whenever he was out on one of his little psychic expeditions. Up until three weeks ago, however, he had been able to push the thought about the worst possibilities at bay. But after Shawn had nearly died up on that mountain, Henry realized that he no longer was able to push the possibility about Shawn getting seriously hurt or worse away.

He simply couldn't show it as easily as Margaret could. When Henry tried to express his worry, it ended up sounding more grumpy than worried. He simply couldn't always express his feelings as well as he wanted to.

Margaret could, that was one trait she and Shawn shared.

She wasn't sobbing into his shoulder like she had done earlier that day – and so much had happened that it seemed strange that it had only happened this morning. It seemed much farther away.

This time Margaret wasn't crying. She was leaning into him with her face pressed against his shoulder and her arms wrapped around his waist.

Just like earlier that day, Henry wondered how easily they assumed that position even after all these years apart. It felt far more familiar than it should after so many years of being divorced. Far more familiar than it should when they hadn't even spoken in so many years.

Over the top of Margaret's head he saw Karen walk over towards them.

"Are you all right?"

Henry nodded without letting go of his hold on Margaret.

"We're finished here for now. Mr. Guster has given his preliminary statement, and he seemed very keen on getting to the hospital to get news about Shawn. I'm sure you want to go as well. Do you need anybody to drive you there?"

Henry shook his head. "No, I'm good to drive."

Karen nodded. "Good. I need to wrap a whole bunch of things up here and at the precinct. I'll come to the hospital as soon as I can, let me know if there are any news about Shawn."

"Sure thing, Karen."

Karen smiled and turned back towards her officers who were still working the scene. Henry squeezed Margaret's shoulder and withdrew slightly from the embrace.

"Come on, let's go to the hospital."

Margaret smiled shakily and nodded. "Okay."

As Margaret took a step back and withdrew from the embrace, Gus came up towards them.

"Are you all right?"

Gus nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. But Chief Vick said it might take a while until they finish the scene and I can get my car out of here. Can you give me a ride to the hospital?"

"Sure. Come on, let's go."

With a hand against Margaret's back, Henry turned and they started walking back through the alley, towards where Henry had left his truck.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Pain.

It hurt.

He couldn't even tell where exactly it hurt.

Everywhere.

And he was underwater.

Maybe not really underwater, but it _sounded_ as if he was underwater. He could hear that there was a lot of noise in the background, but he couldn't make out a single specific sound.

Maybe it were people talking, but there was no way to be sure about that.

The only thing he was sure about was the pain. It felt like a pulsing thing living inside of him, deciding to poke here now, and there a moment later.

Shawn felt the panic rise as he realized how disoriented he really was. He couldn't even remember what had happened, or where he had been.

There was nothing to hold himself onto, nothing to ground himself in reality.

Just a buzz of noise and a world of pain.

And a voice.

Shawn didn't know whose voice it was, and he certainly didn't understand a word it was saying. But he knew that voice, and the fact that he could hear the voice was good. He didn't know why; he simply knew.

It didn't do anything against the pain, that was just as bad as it had been before. But somebody else was there, somebody was taking care of things now, and that meant sooner or later the pain would go away.

And maybe he just needed to let go of his last feeble hold on consciousness until that happened. The voice was there, Shawn was sure that whoever it belonged to would be watching his back while he was trying to escape the pain.

It wasn't as if he had much choice but to trust that voice and flee into blissful oblivion.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Henry didn't remember much of the drive towards the hospital. He couldn't even remember where he had parked his car. All he knew was that for the second time in less than a week he was sitting in the cold and sterile waiting room of a hospital, waiting for news about his son.

Margaret was sitting beside him, silently staring ahead at the opposite wall as she nervously worried the cuticle of her right thumb with her fingernail.

Gus was sitting next to Margaret with his head buried in his hands and his foot nervously tapping against the tiled linoleum floor. The sound was driving Henry mad, but he couldn't bring up the energy to tell Gus to stop it. He couldn't bring himself to tell Gus to stop it.

God knew the kid needed an outlet after that kind of evening. Seeing your friend get shot right in front of your eyes and hitting a guy over the head with a tire iron to stop him from killing your best friend tended to do that to you. Maybe he should be glad that Gus was only tapping his foot against the floor. In his years as a detective, Henry had seen a variety of stress related reactions before. Yes, he probably should be glad that Gus was only tapping his foot.

And still they were waiting for news about Shawn's condition.

Inwardly, Henry was counting down the procedures. General examination and X-rays. Examination of the injuries on Shawn's throat. Stitches to the bullet graze in his side. Generous application of bandages, band aids and cooling packs. Transport up to his room.

Henry did the math and checked the clock hanging on the wall above the door.

Even if his estimates for how long the procedures took were slightly off, something was wrong here. What could possibly take them so long?

Shawn had been unconscious, granted, but his injuries hadn't seemed so severe.

But what if they were?  
What if something was seriously wrong? Something Henry hadn't been able to see while he had tried to assess Shawn's injuries earlier on.

Because if his injuries weren't that bad, surely somebody would have come and told them about Shawn's condition by now, wouldn't they?

The sound of Gus' soles tapping against the linoleum stopped for a moment, only to be picked up again before Henry could even sigh in relief.

Henry looked at the clock for the umpteenth time in the past five minutes when finally the doors to the treatment area opened and a doctor emerged. Henry immediately got up. It wasn't hard to guess that the doctor was heading towards them since they were the only people currently sitting in this waiting room.

As the doctor got closer, Henry was a little surprised that he recognized the man. It was the same doctor who had treated Shawn a few weeks ago, when he had been brought to the hospital after he and Lassiter had been chased down that mountain by those killers. Henry's brain tiredly searched for a name. Larson, that had been it. The doctor's name was Larson. Larson stretched his hand out to each of them in turn as he reached them, but it was Henry he finally addressed.  
"Mr. Spencer. To be honest, I hadn't expected to see your son back here so soon."

"How is he doing?"

"He's resting now. And to alleviate the biggest worry you're probably having right now, I'm confident that he'll make a full recovery. He shouldn't have to stay here for much longer than a day or two, we'll see that once he wakes up."

Henry breathed a silent sigh of relief, and from the corner of his eyes he saw Gus run a hand over his face and Margaret close her eyes in relief at those words.

"He was pretty roughed up, though. His broken ulna suffered no additional damage, though we renewed the cast. And while he didn't break any ribs I'm sure there's a lot more bruising now that will give him trouble over the next couple of days. From his medical records I took that he had a motorcycle accident lately?"

Henry nodded. "A few days ago, yes. But what about his other injuries?"

"The bullet graze to his side needed six stitches. And he has a mild concussion. Since it's the third concussion he suffers in as many weeks, we really need to examine him thoroughly once he wakes up. Our biggest concern was your son's throat. He wasn't deprived of oxygen long enough to cause serious damage, but the choking caused some swelling. That's why he was having trouble breathing earlier, though a large part of that might have also been the shock. The swelling wasn't bad enough to impair his breathing, but we examined him carefully to make sure that the swelling didn't increase. We didn't have to intubate, but we're having Shawn on additional oxygen for the time being and we're watching his oxygen saturation closely. He'll probably sleep through the night, but if you want you can go up and see him."

Henry nodded, and without looking at them he knew that Margaret and Gus reacted just the same.

Larson smiled and pointed towards the corridor.

"I'll show you to his room."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The mist had cleared. The first thing Shawn became aware of was that he could hear clearly again. There were clear sounds in the background – the soft hum of some sort of machinery, a low and regular beeping somewhere to his left, and the unmistakable sound of raindrops against a glass window.

It seemed like the weather forecast had been right with their prediction of an eighty per cent chance of rain.

The sounds were already a pretty good indication of where he was, but Shawn thought it might be best to open his eyes and confirm his suspicion. Maybe he got lucky for once and his perception was wrong.

Slowly, Shawn cracked open first one eye, then the other.

The room was lit only by a few dimmed lights, but that was more than enough to confirm his suspicions. He was in a hospital room.

Which would explain why he was feeling as if he was swaddled in a fluffy cloud. Pain meds. Lost of them, judged by just how fluffy the cloud he was swaddled in felt.

Since the room was dark it had to be night, but there was no way Shawn could tell the time.

He couldn't really move his head, either, though he couldn't feel anything restricting his movement. He couldn't move his hands and feet, either. Wiggle them slightly, yes, but merely the thought of lifting them seemed to exhausting to even consider the effort.

A combination of pain medication and exhaustion, probably.

Laboriously, Shawn turned his head to the side to see whether there was anybody else in the room.

There was.

Now this was interesting.

Maybe the world had stopped spinning while he had been out cold. Or he had been thrown into a crazy parallel universe. Whatever it was, something wasn't right here. Something was wrong about this reality he had woken up in.

In his normal reality, merely the thought of his parents spending longer periods of time together in one room was ridiculous. The thought of his mother and father ever sleeping in the same room again was impossible.

Yet here they were, sitting beside his bed, both fast asleep. His father had his arms crossed in front of his chest and his head tilted forward, and his mother was sitting beside Henry, her jacket over her chest like a blanket and her head leaning on Henry's shoulder.

They were both sleeping deeply and undisturbed by his sudden decision to wake up, so Shawn turned his head back and closed his eyes again.

Whatever strange things had happened that brought him here and that had his parents end up in that position, he was sure it could wait for another few hours.

He needed some sleep. And even as he thought those words, he already drifted off.

The next time Shawn woke up, the process was a lot less gradual. His brain switched from standby mode to attention far more quickly than the previous night. One moment his brain was still fogged with sleep, the next he was blinking against the sudden onslaught of light.

Obviously, it was no longer night.

There were voices silently conversing in the background, but that conversation stopped as Shawn attempted to turn around and groaned as the movement caused his left side to flare up with pain.

There was the sound of chairs scratching along the floor, then his father came into his line of sight.

"Shawn?"

Blearily, Shawn focused his eyes on his Dad.

"Hey."

A small smile showed on Henry's face. "Hey. How are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

Shawn nodded after a brief moment of hesitation. "Meds wore off."

Shawn looked beyond his father's looming figure and spotted Gus standing near the foot of his bed.

"Dude."

"It's good to see you awake again."

Shawn forced a smile and looked back at his father again. "What happened?"

"You were shot."

Shawn thought for a long moment, trying to remember. But his brain only supported him with fragmented images. Approaching headlights. A man trying to climb over a wall. Greg's triumphant face as he finally managed to pull his gun free.

Heart suddenly beating fast in his chest, Shawn looked at his father. "Greg? Did he get away?"

A grim smile appeared on Henry's face. "No, he's currently sitting in an interrogation room at the police station, nursing a monster headache and ten stitches to his skull."

Shawn frowned. He didn't remember that he managed to hurt Greg. He distantly remembered trying to hit him with the cast on his arm, but he couldn't possible have put enough force behind that hit to seriously hurt the guy. "What happened?"

"Gus happened." Henry said, and Shawn was sure that there was a note of pride in his voice. Glancing at his friend, Shawn found that Gus had his hands in his pockets and wasn't looking all that comfortable.

"Gus?"

Gus shrugged awkwardly. "He was trying to kill you. All I heard was that shot, so I grabbed the first thing I found and hit him over the head with it."

"What did you hit him with so that he needed ten stitches?"

"Tire iron," Gus mumbled, clearly unable to share Henry's feeling of pride.

Shawn was taken a little aback. Gus was probably the most restrained person he knew. Of course he could get violent, Shawn had been on the receiving end of a Guster-punch more than once, but those had been scuffles between friends that had gotten out of hand. Hitting somebody with a tire iron was a whole different category. And considering that Greg had had a gun, Gus had probably saved his life.

"Thanks dude."  
Gus shrugged again, still not comfortable.

Shawn decided to change the topic. "Where's Mom? Wasn't she here last night?"

Henry frowned. "How do you know? You were out cold for the entire night."

"I woke up once. But you were both asleep."

Henry shifted nervously in his chair and ran a hand over his head. "She went home to take a shower and change clothes. She should be back in half an hour maybe."

Shawn nodded. "Good. So it's over, right?"

Henry nodded. "It's all over. The guy is in custody, the jewels are back at the police station and nobody else was hurt."

"What about the bomb?"

Henry shook his head. "There was no bomb. Bomb squad cleared the mall. You were right, it was just as distraction."

Shawn sank further back into his pillows with a loud sigh. "Good."

Henry watched Shawn for a long moment with one eyebrow raised. "Aren't you curious about what happened to you?"

Yes, there had been something. His Dad had said he had been shot, maybe that was worth inquiring.

"I was shot?"

"Bullet graze in your side that needed stitches. A few more bruises to add to your collection, a number of them across your throat from that guy trying to choke you. Oh, and yet another concussion. You really need to take better care of what you do with your head."

Shawn rolled his eyes. He didn't quite understand why his father was making all this fuss about it. It wasn't the first concussion he ever had, certainly not. So far, he had survived them all.

"When can I get out of here?"

Henry shrugged. "They want to examine you thoroughly first. Maybe this afternoon, maybe tomorrow. We'll see. But I can already guarantee you that you're going to stay here for as long as the doctors tell you to."

Shawn rolled his eyes again, but stopped when the pain in his head flared up again.

"All right, all right. No need to go all jail-warden on me."

Henry chuckled mirthlessly. "No, of course not. Shawn, you might not remember, but you're horrible about listening to medical advice. You try to get yourself released AMA on a regular basis whenever you're in hospital."

"It's not that bad, and you know it."

A frown appeared on Henry's face, and Gus took a step closer to the bed. "What did you say?"

"I said that you know I'm not that bad about it. But let's face it, we all know that I heal better when I'm at home. I need my regular hours of sleep, and I think we all remember what happened the last time when I tried to run my body on the stuff they call food here. I mean, come on! I need stuff I can chew!"

Henry's eyes were wide. "Shawn, can you tell me when you were in the hospital for the last time?"

Shawn frowned. "Of course, but one should think that as a worried father you would know. I'm pretty sure you remember about Fresno. Then after Lassiter and I took our little hike down the mountain. The time before that was when that crazy Spelling Bee contestant father drove me off the road. Of course, I went to visit people in between that as well, but I guess that's not what you meant, is it?"

Henry was just starting at him, and Gus was doing a pretty good goldfish-in-a-glass impersonation the way he was gaping. He looked from one to the other.

"What?"

"You remember being in hospital about two years ago."

Shawn frowned. "Of course. Come on Gus, surely you remember as well. I called you."

Gus nodded. "I remember. I'm just astonished that you do."

"Why shouldn't I? I was the one who ended up in hospital, of course I remember. My knee hurt like mad, and you chasing me all over the lawn in front of that convention centre didn't help any."

Henry and Gus exchanged a look which Shawn couldn't quite place.

"What's going on here?"

"You remember."

Shawn nodded. "Yes, I do. Of course I do."

Henry shook his head. "Think about it, Shawn. Yesterday, you couldn't remember a thing that lay more than three days in the past."

Shawn felt that he couldn't breathe. Of course. He remembered. He remembered how his brain had come up with a blank no matter what he had tried to do to spark his memories. He remembered being in that hospital room in Fresno, with three total strangers who had introduced themselves as his family. Only that they hadn't been strangers. They had been his Mom, his Dad and Gus. How could he have not recognized them.

"I remember." He said, though it came out as a whisper. "I remember."  
A beaming smile threatened to split Gus' face apart. "Shawn, that's great!"

Shawn felt a grin of his own spread over his face. "Quick, ask me something! Anything."

Gus thought for a moment. "What was my science project in fourth grade?"

"Of all the things you could think of, that's what you come up with? Really Gus? Your dinosaur head! You were doing nothing but work on that for months! And you were pretty pissed when Mrs. Godowsky liked my project better."

"Shawn, you taped a T-Rex on top of a remote controlled car. That was no project! That was cheating!"

"Was not! It was just an effective way to get the project done without wasting three months of my life on it! Besides, you weren't saying anything against my abilities of coming up with a quick solution to a problem when you smashed our window with the baseball in sixth grade."

Henry turned towards Gus, his brow furrowed. "That was you?"

Gus stared at Henry with wide eyes, then turned an angry glare towards Shawn. "You promised never to tell him, Shawn!"

But Shawn was too wrapped up in his newly rediscovered ability of remembering. The memories seemed overpowering, all of them rushing to the foreground at once as if to show that they were really and truly back, and Shawn latched onto each and every one of them as if they would vanish again if he didn't focus enough. He never wanted to experience this total lack of knowledge about himself and his life again, never.

"Come on Gus, he won't hold that against you. He's too worried you'll ever find out that he ran over your dog."

"You did what?" Now it was Gus' turn to glare at Henry and Henry's turn to stutter in search of an explanation. Finally, he seemed to settle on a well-known mechanism. He glared at Shawn.

"Of all the memories you have back, those are the ones you chose to talk about?"

Shawn shrugged, the grin on his face never wavering. He looked straight into his father's eyes, and after a few moments the angry expression on Henry's face vanished as he saw the look of pure and unadulterated joy and excitement on his son's face.

"I remember, Dad. I can finally remember!"

Henry smiled. "Yeah kid. I never doubted that you would."


	15. A Thousand Shards and no Glue in Sight

Sorry for the long time between updates. I hadn't forgotten, it was just real life being...well, real life. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 15 – A Thousand Shards and no Glue in Sight**

Having his memory back was great.

There was no doubt about it.

Whatever he wanted to remember, he could. Whenever he wanted to. And thanks to his near-perfect memory, that meant he could remember practically anything, down to a very young age.

It also sucked, having his memory back.

He couldn't just remember the fun things, or the good things. He also remembered the bad things, and that was a non-too pleasant experience.

For three days he had lived with both his parents, and Margaret and Henry had gotten through that time in an awkward truce. It had been all right while he hadn't been able to remember anything. But now with his memory back, it was more than just awkward.

Shawn remembered all their fights leading up to the divorce only too well. He remembered the yelling, the accusations, the ugly words and the resolution that both their lives would be a lot better if they never crossed paths again.

He remembered more than ten years during which he had only been able to have contact with either his mother or his father, but had never had a conversation with the both of them at the same time.

And now his mother and father were living under the same roof, playing house.

It was ridiculous.

But what was even more ridiculous was that both his parents expected him to play along after his release from the hospital. And his release came far more quickly than anticipated.

One excessive examination, mostly of his head, and that had been it. The diagnosis remained the same – a mild concussion and a bullet graze in his side. No reason to stay in hospital, but aside from a bottle with painkillers, Shawn was also given the advice of not staying alone for the next two days or so, just to make sure.

And of course his father had been there to hear that.

From that moment on, there had been no discussion about where Shawn was going to go after his release. He was going to stay at his father's place, watching the two divorcees pretending that nothing hurtful had ever happened between them.

And his father wasn't listening when Shawn started to suggest alternative scenarios. He merely harrumphed when Shawn suggested that he could stay with Gus, and he didn't even react to Shawn's other suggestions. Though Shawn imagined that spending the next few days with Juliet might be a fun alternative. He wasn't so sure about staying with Lassiter, but compared to the alternative of staying with his parents, Shawn was willing to give it a shot. But Henry didn't listen.

Before he even knew what was happening, Shawn found himself in the passenger seat of his father's truck, driving up the driveway of his father's house.

Margaret was waiting for them inside, and as Henry opened the door she rushed up to greet Shawn.

"Shawn! Sweetheart, how are you doing?"

That was an interesting question, seeing that she had last seen him a few hours before at the hospital. It wasn't as if much had happened since then. But he smiled and wrapped his arms around her for a moment as she hugged him.

"I'm fine Mom, I told you this morning."

Margaret released him and ushered him inside the kitchen.

"Come on, I made you some lunch."

This was beyond awkward. Shawn sat down at the kitchen table as his mother served chicken and pasta and endured a silent meal.

Who would have thought that once he left the hospital he'd end up in the twilight zone?

Once they were finished eating, Shawn helped his mother put away the dishes while his father started to run water into the sink.

"What's wrong Shawn?" Margaret asked after a moment. "You've been awfully silent ever since you came here."

Yeah, now this was going to get interesting.

"Nothing." Shawn grumbled noncommittally.

"Don't you _'nothing'_ me, Shawn Henry Spencer." Margaret pulled her self up to her full height in front of him, hands on her hips, looking up at her son from two and a half inches below Shawn's direct eye line. "I've known you for thirty years now, and I know very well when you're lying. So what is going on?"

"What's going on?" Shawn threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's this whole scenario!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this!" Shawn swept his arm through the kitchen. "You cooking lunch like the past sixteen years haven't happened. You and Dad playing house, even though you didn't even send each other Christmas cards for more than ten years! What's next? We all live here like a happy family for the next couple of days? Me in my old bedroom, you in Dad's bed, and Dad on the sofa?"

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew the small orange bottle with painkillers. He tossed them over to his father, who caught them in stunned surprise.

"You're going to need those much more than I do if you keep sleeping on the sofa. My guess is that you silently took a double dosage of your own painkillers after your first night on that thing, but of course you're much too proud to admit that sleeping on that sofa is pure hell for your back!"

Margaret turned towards Henry, who was still standing with the bottle of pills clutched in his hand and a stunned expression on his face.

"You have problems with your back, Henry? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you tell me about your heart attack, Margaret?" Henry snapped back, only to clamp his mouth shut in embarrassed surprise a second later.

Shawn looked at his mother, fully expecting her to laugh that remark off as totally ridiculous. But then he saw the look in his mother's eyes and knew that his father had just let something slip that he had never intended to say. Something icy crawled down Shawn's spine.

"Mom?"  
"Shawn, it's nothing…"

"A heart attack, Mom? You call that _nothing_?"

"No Shawn, I just didn't want you to…"

"What? You didn't want me to know? Well, it's a little too late for that now. Thanks for not telling me!"

Shawn turned around and stormed out of the kitchen, unable to stay in one room with his parents for any longer. He slammed the door shut, but once he was out on the porch he realized that he couldn't go anywhere. He didn't have his bike here, it was still in the repair shop after his accident, and the thought of walking back to his apartment was ludicrous.

With a sigh, Shawn sat down in one of the porch chairs and buried his head in his hands.

A heart attack. His mother had had a heart attack and he didn't know about it. Obviously even his father had known, and his parents hadn't talked to each other in years.

Why hadn't she told him?

He had a right to know, didn't he?

After a minute or two, Shawn heard the door open again. There were steps on the wooden porch and his mother sat down in a chair beside him.

"Can we talk?"

Shawn sighed and sat up straight. His mother was watching him with an insecure expression on her face. He shrugged.

"What should there be to say? You had a heart attack, and obviously everybody knew about it except me."

Margaret shook her head. "No, that's not true. Your father didn't know until yesterday, either."

Of course that put his parents' strange behavior from the previous day into perspective. His parents' awkward behavior towards each other and his mothers tears made sense now. But still it did nothing to alleviate the sting Shawn felt inside when he thought about his mother being sick and him not knowing about it.

"That's something different. You didn't talk to Dad in years. You're divorced, he didn't need to know. He had no right to know. But I'm your son! Don't you think I had a right to know?"

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

Shawn couldn't keep the pain out of his voice entirely, but he didn't care about that right now.

Margaret sighed and started to twist her fingers nervously.

"I don't know. I was scared, Shawn."

"Scared of what? Of telling me?"

Margaret shrugged. "Scared of your reaction. Shawn, the feeling that my own body was no longer working properly scared the crap out of me. It was only a light heart attack, caused by a combination of stress and angina. The chances that it's going to happen again are slim. Very slim. But I was scared, Shawn. Scared that it might happen again, scared of being scared, scared of everything. It felt as if my whole life had been turned upside down. Once I was released from the hospital, I did everything the doctors told me. I reduced my stress levels and I lived healthy. I simply pushed the thought that it had happened away completely. I think I was afraid that if I told you about it, you were going to worry."

Shawn harrumphed. "Of course I'd have worried. I think I had a right to worry."

"Yes. Of course it would have been your right. But I thought it was my right to try and not to think about it. I thought it was my right to pretend it had never happened so that I could go on with my life without being scared. It was the easiest solution, and I couldn't have done that if you or anybody else close to me had known."

Shawn sighed and shook his head. "I still had a right to know."

Margaret nodded. "Yes. And I'm sorry that I didn't tell you. But I was doing what I thought was best for me."

Shawn leaned his head back and ran his hands over his face. "Mom, that's a pretty big bombshell you just dropped on me."

"Your father said the same thing yesterday."

"But how? I mean, your lifestyle is one of the healthiest I know. Why did that happen?"

"The months before it happened, I wasn't living healthy. I was working too much, I had too much caffeine, ate irregularly, and if I did it was mostly junk food. It was…working was my way of trying to deal with what happened. You know, after I caught Max cheating on me."

"That asshole."

Shawn remembered only too well how heartbroken his mother had been after the bastard had cheated on her with a stewardess. He had never met Max, but he knew how much his mother had loved him. And that idiot had thrown all that away for a few hours fun with a woman barely half his age.

"When did it happen?"

"Fourteen months ago."

Now that his memory was back, Shawn didn't need to put any conscious effort into his brain making the right connections.

"I called you. I left you a message, and when you called back you said you had been on a business trip."

Margaret nodded. "Yes."

"You lied to me."

Again, Margaret gave a barely perceptible nod of her head. "Yes."

That thought somehow hurt even more. Maybe Shawn could understand that his mother had not told him about the heart attack, but that she had downright lied to him hurt.

"It was the first time I lied to you, and I really regret that I did it."

"But you did what you thought was best for you at the time." Shawn didn't like the tone of his voice, but he couldn't help how it came out.

Margaret sighed. "Is there any way you can understand why I did this?"

"I don't know. It's a bit hard to take in." He looked up and waited until his mother met his eyes. "I don't like it when people I care about lie to me. I'm your son, and I'm thirty years old. You could have talked to me. You could have told me that you wanted to forget all about it, that you wanted to pretend it had never happened. But I had a right to _know_ what had happened."

Margaret nodded. "You're right, Shawn. I'm sorry."

She sighed and got up from her chair. "I'd better get back inside and help your father with the dishes."

As she got up, Shawn for the first time took a closer look at his mother. She looked as if she lacked a lot of sleep, there were bags under her eyes and lines of worry in her face which hadn't been there the last time he had seen her. The last couple of days seemed to have taken a great toll on her, and the last thing Shawn wanted was for her to worry even further. It had been a hard few days on them all, this was only making things worse.

"Mom, wait."

Margaret turned around with the doorknob already in her hand as Shawn got up from his chair. He walked up to her and ran a hand over his face.

"I understand that you don't want anybody to worry about you. But you're my Mom. I'm entitled to worry about you if something is wrong with you. Just like I worry about Dad whenever his back is acting up again. I can't help but worry, though I'd never tell him that. I mean, you and Dad are divorced and whether or not you are able to talk to each other about those things or anything else shouldn't really matter to me anymore after all these years. But you and Dad are still the only family I have. I have a right to know if anything is wrong with either of you."

Margaret nodded. "You're right."

"Good." Shawn nodded. "So the next time you end up in hospital, just call. I won't make a fuss about it if you don't want that, but I want to know."  
A shaky smile appeared on her face. "All right. I think I can do that."

Shawn smiled and pulled his mother into a hug. Margaret leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I love you, Mom."

Margaret withdrew slightly and looked up at Shawn. "I love you too. I simply forget at times that you're no longer my little kid whom I need to shield from all the bad things. Just when did you grow up so much?"

Shawn grimaced. "Mom, this really isn't the right time to start insulting me."  
Margaret gave Shawn a playful swat on the upper arm. "Don't get cocky with me, Shawn. I'm still your mother."

"Just do me a favor and don't get mad at Dad because he let the things about your heart attack slip out. It looked as if he wanted to slap himself, I don't think he did it deliberately."

Margaret shook her head. "I won't, I promise. Actually it's good that it's finally out. I really don't like keeping things from you."

She took a step back and ran a hand through her hair. "How bad is his back?"

Shawn shrugged. "It doesn't bother him most of the time. But if he pulls something or moves wrongly, it can get bad. Sleeping on the sofa certainly isn't good for him, but you know him. He'd rather grit his teeth and take some pills instead of saying anything."  
Margaret nodded. "That sounds like him. But I'll most certainly not take the blame if he's moving around like the hunchback of Notre Dame after another night on that thing. Come on."  
She opened the door and entered the kitchen again. Shawn followed her inside.

His father was standing at the sink, washing the last plate from lunch and putting it on the dish rack to dry. Margaret stepped up to him.

"All right Henry, it's enough."

Henry silently raised an eyebrow and turned around, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

"What is enough?"

"You'll sleep in your bed again. I'll take the sofa."

"Margaret, that's totally ridiculous. Whatever Shawn told you about my back, he's exaggerating. Staying on the sofa for a few days is absolutely no problem."

Margaret shook her head. "No. You have a bad back, so you're not going to make it worse by staying on the sofa."

"I could stay at home, you know?" Shawn interrupted. "I do have an own apartment after all. Then you can both sleep in a bed and we'll all be happy. How does that sound?"

Margaret and Henry both turned towards him with simultaneous shakes of their heads.

"No." It came out as a two-voiced chorus.

"Your doctor said explicitly that you shouldn't stay alone for a few days." Henry crossed his arms in front of his chest, his typical stance when preparing for a confrontation. "Don't think that you can get out of this one. You're going to stay here."  
Margaret nodded emphatically, and for a moment Shawn wondered how those two could be so strongly of one opinion when they normally agreed with each other just for the sake of it. He rolled his eyes.

"Fine. But I'll sleep on the sofa. You two take the beds. And I don't want to hear another word about it."

"All right." Henry agreed, and Margaret nodded.

Shawn allowed himself a triumphant smile. "Good. Now that we have that cleared up, I'm going to watch some TV."

He left the kitchen towards the living room, turned on the TV and flopped down on the sofa.

That was a mistake.

He had received another dose of painkillers before his release from the hospital, and up until a few minutes ago he hadn't had many problems moving around. But obviously, the medication had decided to wear off now, and his careless launch onto the sofa wasn't the best choice of movement.

Shawn couldn't help but hiss loudly as his side flared up in pain.

"Damn," he mumbled and slowly, very carefully picked himself up from the sofa again. Just how stupid was that? Now he finally had his memory back, and the first thing he did was forget about his bruised ribs and the stitches in his side.

Damn that hurt.

With his right arm across his stomach and the hand pressed against his side, Shawn made his way back into the kitchen. Of course he also had to give his pain medication to his father just to make a point. Now he couldn't get out of this by silently popping a pill or two and waiting until the pain let up, no. Now he had to get his pills back from his father first, and his father would ask questions. Just great.

His mother was nowhere to be seen, but his Dad was still in the kitchen, putting away the dishes from lunch. He turned around when he heard Shawn come into the room, and a frown spread over his face as he noticed his son's hunched position and the hand Shawn pressed against his side.

"What happened?" Henry asked and came over towards Shawn.

"I flopped down on the sofa. That wasn't the best idea."

"Did you pull your stitches?"

Shawn shook his head. "I don't think so."

But Henry unerringly pulled Shawn's shirt out of his jeans and pulled it up to reveal the white square of gauze taped over the bullet graze. Only once he was sure that Shawn hadn't pulled any stitches and the wound wasn't bleeding again did he let go.

"You forgot about your bruised ribs and the stitches in your side?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "It's not my fault that the doctors gave me a parting shot of the good stuff before they released me. Moving wasn't a big problem until a few minutes ago"

Henry just shook his head and pulled the small bottle with Shawn's pills out of his pocket.

"I'll get you some water."

Shawn took two of the small pills out of the bottle and swallowed them with the water his father gave him.

"Thanks." He put the glass down and carefully leaned back in his chair. It would take a few minutes for the pills to take effect, he didn't intend to move before then.

"Where's Mom?"

"Upstairs, moving her things out of the bedroom and into your room. Though I'm convinced she'll try and have another talk with you about who exactly is going to sleep on the sofa."

Shawn smiled. "She is kinda stubborn."

"Well, you had to get it from somebody."

Shawn laughed. "Oh yes. And of course stubbornness is not a trait you're known to possess."

Henry shrugged. "It's a different kind of stubbornness. Your mother and you both possess that stubborn streak that you always want to get your will."

"And you don't?"

"Of course I like to get my will. But if you want to analyze my stubborn streak, I think it's more in the direction that I don't easily change my mind about things."

Shawn laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, you could say that."

He could see that there was more his father wanted to say. But in all honesty, Shawn didn't want to talk about anything else today. The revelation of his mother's heart attack was more than enough to deal with in one day.

Well, that was one reason.

The other, more important reason, was that Shawn was still struggling with all the memories that had suddenly come back to him. For three days, he had tried to figure out who he was and who the people around him were. During those days he had tried to piece together his relationship with the people in his life. He had been pretty right about his Mom and Gus, but his father was a different category altogether.

During his time without memory, Shawn had been absolutely clueless about his relationship with his father. Now that he suddenly remembered everything about himself and his Dad, he didn't really know what to do. He could interact with his father on an everyday basis, but he absolutely didn't want to go into any in depth conversations with him.

Not today.

Not until he knew what to make of the whole issue himself.

So before Henry had the chance to say anything else, Shawn got up from his chair and turned back towards the living room.

"I think I'll tackle the TV idea again. I'm knackered, and as soon as those pills start working I'll probably doze off, anyway."  
Henry looked at Shawn as if he recognized the words for the lie they were, but he only nodded.

"Sure. If you need anything just call."

Shawn nodded and retreated back into the living room.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Three days.

His parents didn't let him go to his own apartment for three whole days.

He had a concussion, a _mild_ concussion, not two broken arms and legs. Of course the doctors had been worried because he had received so many bumps to the head in such a short amount of time, but Shawn didn't understand what all the fuss was about. He had the occasional headache, that was all there was to it. He could take pretty good care of himself even with a concussion, he didn't need his parents to hold his hand.

Not that they did. But alone in the house with them he was kind of trapped. His bike was still in a repair shop somewhere in Fresno, and if he wanted to get away from the house he always needed to ask his parents to drive him. It felt like being twelve again.

The fact that Gus made himself sparse didn't help any. Gus had to do his routes for his first job. Well, right now his only job, seeing that Shawn had officially closed the Psych offices for the time being. And without a case, Shawn didn't have a good reason to call Gus out of his meetings. Well, he could still call him, but Gus wouldn't come. Maybe if he told him that the house was on fire and he was trapped upstairs Gus would cut his meetings short and come get him, but even three days with his parents hadn't made Shawn that desperate yet.

But it was awkward and uncomfortable staying at his Dad's place, and that wasn't only because the sofa wasn't the most comfortable bed even for somebody without previous back problems.

His mother was really doing her best to make the time comfortable for Shawn, but they both noticed that it didn't work. Shawn remembered how she had told him a few days ago that their relationship worked so well because they hardly ever had to deal with each other on an everyday basis. She had been right.

Visiting her in New Jersey was different than suddenly living with her in his childhood home again. It reminded him too much of a family life that was long since over. And the fact that his Mom and Dad still interacted as if they were constantly worried of blowing each other's fuse didn't really help, either.

But all in all Shawn could have dealt with that.

What he couldn't deal with were the memories.

It was strange, seeing that for days on end he had hoped and prayed for his memory to come back. But right now, he wished he could have forgotten certain things.

Like Herb.

The memory of the moment when he and Herb had struggled for the gun was back with a vivid clarity as if it had happened only minutes ago.

He could have certainly done without that.

And without the nightmares.

The only good thing about sleeping on the sofa was that whenever he woke up at night, covered in sweat and the sheets tangled between his legs, his parents were too far away to hear his thrashing around. Shawn hadn't slept through one night without at least one or two nightmares ever since he had returned home. If his parents knew about that, they wouldn't leave him alone about it.

And if there was one thing Shawn didn't want, then it was discussing that day on the mountain with his parents. Especially not with his father.

Shawn remembered only too vividly how his father had reacted in the hospital when Shawn had woken up after the ordeal on the mountain. Henry had said everything he wanted to say about the topic, and Shawn had no intention of repeating that conversation.

It wouldn't have happened if he was a cop.

That was all there was to it, all the message his father wanted to convey. Shawn had screwed up because he was no cop, because he was reckless and didn't think things through. And then, as if to prove his father right, he had tried to run away from it all.

That wasn't what it had really been about, but his father would never understand that. So there was really no use in trying to talk about it.

Shawn avoided being alone with his father for as long as his parents kept him prisoner in the house. It was obvious that Henry still thought they needed to talk about something, and Shawn wanted to avoid that particular conversation like the devil avoided holy water.

The three days seemed like an eternity, but finally his Mom and Dad seemed convinced that he could stay at his own place without dropping dead all of a sudden.

His father offered to drive him to his place, but that would have meant fifteen minutes in a car with his father. Alone, with no way to avoid uncomfortable conversations. No way.

So he called Gus.

There was a lot of grumbling about appointments and important clients, but in the end it took only minor blackmailing and guilt tripping before Gus agreed to drop by in between two appointments and drive him to his apartment.

And here he was.

Sweet freedom, finally.

It had been just a little over a week that Shawn had last been in his apartment, but it felt strange to be back. The last time he had left, he had thought to leave it all behind for longer than just a few days. And now he was here again, looking at the total lack of inhabitation that had settled here after he had cleaned up before he left.

He hadn't planned on coming back so soon.

But now he was back, and he needed to figure out whether he wanted to stay or not.

It wasn't an easy decision.

Nothing had changed since the last time he had left.

He had still killed a man.

That hadn't changed. That would never change, not even if he forgot that it had ever happened.

Shawn needed to get out of here.

He left the apartment and went out onto the street. Ten minutes later he paid the cab driver and got out at the Psych office. For a moment he simply stood on the pavement and looked at the office. The blinds were drawn and the _Closed until further notice_-sign was still up on the front door. It looked slightly crumpled, though, as if Gus had balled it up and then smoothed out again at one point.

Shawn pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. He didn't lock it again behind himself, but he also didn't open the blinds or take down the sign. It would be just his luck if a potential customer took his presence in the office as a sign that it was open again.

Shawn sat down in his desk chair and let his eyes roam around the room.

It looked just like it always did. None of the usual clutter was strewn around, and the board was cleared of all notes that were normally written down on it during cases. But generally it looked like they were on vacation, not like the office was closed.

Probably Gus had been too busy to start packing his things together yet.

Shawn put his feet up on the desk and leaned his head back.

Psych had been a great idea. Of course it had also been a great way to spite his Dad, but that hadn't been what it had been about. After all these years of calling in anonymous tips with the police, he had finally found a way to use the skills his father had drilled into him in his own way. He had been good at it, and it had been fun. For the first time in his life, Shawn had thought he had found something he wanted to stick with, if not for the rest of his life, then at least for a longer while.

Until he had killed a man.

Of course it hadn't been premeditated murder, and it had been the only way for him and Lassiter to get out of this whole situation alive. There were a lot of things that could justify what he had done, but none that made it any better. None that made it undone.

And the worst thing was that it had started out like any other case. There had been no way for Shawn to predict that something like this could happen. So how could he ever take a case again? He could never take a case again if he didn't know for sure that something like this never happened again. And there simply was no way for him to tell beforehand whether or not a case would get dangerous.

Maybe his father was right.

Maybe he should have become a cop. At least if he had gone to the Academy and figured out that the job wasn't for him, he might have understood that he needed to keep his fingers out of police work altogether. Maybe if he had tried to become a cop first, he'd never have gotten the idea of trying to do the job halfway.

This time, Lassiter had gotten hurt and a man had died. True, that man had tried to kill them, but it was still a life that no longer continued because of Shawn.

And what if the next time, something more grievous happened? What if the next time, Lassiter wouldn't be lucky enough to escape with a broken wrist and a through-and-through in his shoulder? What if the next time Lassiter was the one to die? Or Gus? Or Juliet?

Shawn just couldn't do that.

He couldn't bear that responsibility.

He couldn't take that risk.

His father was right and he needed to face the facts. He had to stop running away. That wouldn't undo his deeds either, and he couldn't pretend that nothing had happened for any longer.

He needed to admit that his father was right. He had screwed up.

Shawn didn't know for how long he had sat there when the door to the office opened and steps approached his desk.

"I'm sorry, we're closed." Shawn called over his shoulder.

"You need to install a mirror somewhere, so that you can see who's coming into the office. Doesn't do anything for your reputation as a psychic if you don't know who's coming through the door."

A moment later Henry came into the office. He leaned against the doorjamb with his hands in his pockets and looked at Shawn.

"Dad, what are you doing here?"

Henry shrugged and came into the office where he sat down in Gus' desk chair.

"The repair shop called about your bike twenty minutes ago. You disconnected your landline, and your cell phone got smashed in the accident, so I thought I'd come looking for you."

Shawn frowned. "Because the repair shop called about my bike."  
Henry nodded. "Yeah. Your bike is fixed, I thought we might drive over and get it tomorrow. You only need a new helmet."

"So you come here, not even an hour after I left the house, to tell me that my bike which, just for the record, you hate with a passion bordering on an obsession, has been fixed. And as if to top that, you even offer to make a two-hour drive with me so that I can get the bike you hate so much back?"

Henry shrugged again.

Shawn wasn't buying it.

"Come on Dad, stop the bullshit. Why are you really here?"

Henry sighed and leaned forward so that his elbows rested on the desk.

"Why do you think I have an ulterior motive for coming here?"

Shawn shrugged. "Of course it's entirely possible that you're just tired of playing house with Mom. But if that was the case, I think you'd go out for a beer or meet some buddies and not come here to talk to me about my bike."

Henry's eyes roamed around the room, the empty board against the wall and the clean desks between them.

"Have you already thought about what you're going to do with the place?"

Shawn looked around the office again with a shrug.

"I don't know."

"The lease isn't up for another couple of months, is it?"

Shawn shook his head. "As far as I know. Gus is always taking care of these things. The rent for the next three months is paid, that's all I know."

Henry shifted uncomfortably in his chair and Shawn knew without the doubt that the time when he could evade a serious conversation with his father for any longer was over. He only wondered whether the talk about the office was only Henry's attempt to get the conversation going, or whether this was what it was all about. But it would really surprise Shawn if his father had followed him all the way to talk about the offices and his future. No, probably this was going to become yet another conversation about his life being so screwed up because he was no cop. What better way to start that conversation than ask about the office. It was the perfect way to lead the conversation into known waters for his father – criticizing his son's choice of a career.

But what his father said next surprised Shawn even more.

"I don't think you should close the office."

At first, Shawn thought he had heard wrong.

"What?"

"You heard me. I think you should reconsider your idea of closing the agency."

Shawn shook his head. "You don't honestly want me to believe that."

"Why not?"

Shawn nearly laughed. "Why not? You've been against what I've been doing from the very first day on, and now I'm supposed to believe that you don't want me to close the office? Come on Dad, I know you better than that."

Henry shook his head and picked up a pen from Gus' desk. Leaning back in his chair, he started to twist it nervously between his fingers. When he made no immediate move to answer, Shawn picked the conversation up again.

"You even said it yourself, Dad. Three days ago when you accused me of being just as stubborn as Mom is. You said yourself that you don't easily change your mind about things. So now I'm supposed to believe you changed your mind about my choice of a career? Just like that? I don't buy it."

Henry shook his head. "Not just like that."

"What?"

It took a moment, but finally his father looked up and met Shawn's eyes. "I never said I changed my mind just like that. But a lot of things have happened over the past weeks."

Shawn nodded. "Yes. I distinctly remember waking up in the hospital after I just killed a man, and the first thing you did was turn it into a discussion as to why things would have been different if I only was a cop."

He couldn't help but let the bitterness about that particular memory creep into his voice, even though he didn't want to. He didn't want to have an emotional discussion with his father right now, those only ended badly whenever they tried. They weren't made for that kind of conversation.

Henry bit his lip and shook his head.

"When you lost your memory, all your doctors said that for you the most difficult thing was getting to know everybody again. There were all these people around you who were a part of your life, but you didn't remember them. And now you needed to figure out who they were and what your relationship to them was like."

"Yeah, I remember that."

Henry shrugged awkwardly. "I'm not saying I know what that feels like, but the past weeks have been a bit like that for myself, as well."

"Really? Wow, if only I'd known what you've been through, I wouldn't have taken myself so importantly."

Shawn's voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Henry only shook his head again.

"That's not what I mean, Shawn. What I mean is that normally, we can't really get out of our skin. You could, if only for a few days. I guess you're glad that it's over again, but still. For three days you were able to get to know your own life from a totally different perspective."

"Losing your memory is a bit of a drastic way to get a new outlook on your own life."

Henry nodded. "I know. I never said it wasn't. But now that it's over, you can't tell me that it wasn't the least bit interesting to get to know your life and the people in it from scratch."

Shawn shrugged. "I could have done without the experience, to be honest. Besides, I still don't quite get the part where you've been through something similar."

Henry looked down at the floor for a moment, then he raised his head again and looked at Shawn.

"When you left town, Gus kept bugging me about it. He wanted to know what we had fought about, whether or not I knew why you had left and where you could have gone. He kept bugging me that there was something I needed to do to find you. My standpoint on the whole issue was much more simple."

Shawn laughed. "I can imagine that."

"You had run away before. It wasn't the first time. Running away has always been one of your ways to deal with difficulties coming your way. I didn't think there was any need to worry, and that's where I was wrong."

Shawn couldn't really believe that he had heard those words out of his father's mouth. He had thought he'd never ever hear his father admit that he had been wrong about something. For years he had wanted to hear it, but now that he had, he couldn't quite believe it. But Henry already continued before Shawn had the chance to say anything.

"It took a few people pointing out to me that this was different from the times you had run before. That this time it wasn't about getting bored, or about wanderlust. And it certainly took more people than it should have taken to point out to me that I wasn't free of blame."

"Oh, really." Shawn shook his head. "Dad, I'm thirty years old. I can make my own decisions, and I certainly don't always consider what you think about it when I decide to do something. Not everything I say or do can be traced back to you."

"I know that, Shawn. But what I didn't quite see was how much of what you say or do can be traced back to me. When I lost it in the hospital, it wasn't about whether or not everything would have been better if you were a cop."

Shawn laughed mirthlessly. "No? Because it sounded as if that's what it was about. It's what it's always about."

Henry shook his head. "I was worried, Shawn. The evening before, you called me out of the blue and told me that you killed somebody. I don't know if you even remember that phone call, but I can tell you that it isn't a conversation I like to remember. You were in shock and barely able to bring out a coherent sentence, let alone answer a question. And an hour later I watched they wheeled you past me in the hospital, all glazy eyed and covered in blood. I was worried about you, whether you believe it or not. I'm just not always great at showing when I'm worried."

"You can definitely say that."

Henry drew a deep breath and slowly released it. "What I'm trying to say is that I overreacted that day in the hospital. It wasn't about you being or not being a cop. I was worried and I couldn't deal with it, that's why I blew up in your face like that. It was the wrong thing to do, and it was the wrong time to do it. I didn't consider that."

Again, Shawn couldn't quite believe his ears. "Was that an apology?"

First his Dad admitted that he was wrong, and now he even apologized? Maybe all those bumps to the head really had caused some lasting damage which he hadn't noticed yet.

Henry sighed. "Yes."

"Oh. Okay."

This conversation was going over Shawn's head rapidly now. He hadn't quite imagined his father to seek him out to talk about that kind of things. He could have imagined a lot, but that? This was downright creepy. And to be honest, he still didn't really understand what this was all about.

"So, how does all this come back to your initial point?"

Henry sighed and started twisting the pen between his fingers again. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like I did in the hospital. And when you left town, I should have figured out sooner that this was different from the times when you left before. But I didn't. And it took some serious butt kicking by Gus before I even considered the thought that instead of yelling, you might have needed some help in dealing with what happened."

Shawn's eyebrows went up nearly on their own volition. "Butt kicking by Gus?" Somehow, it was hard to imagine that.

But Henry only shrugged. "Yes. Actually by everybody, because unlike me they all seemed to see how much this was bothering you. Gus, your mother, Karen even, Ricky…"

"Wait, wait, wait. How do you know Ricky?"

Henry shrugged. "I drove up to San Francisco looking for you. Ricky and I had a long talk. Actually, I was on my way back to Santa Barbara when that call from the Fresno hospital came about your accident."

Shawn was still shaking his head. "But how did you know _about_ Ricky in the first place?"

To Shawn, his father looked a bit sheepish. "I might have gone through your phone records to try and figure out where you might have gone."

Shawn swallowed. Actually, his first reaction was to yell at his father for this breach of privacy, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. To get to his phone records, his father must have asked somebody for help. Maybe he had called in a favor. Whatever it had been, it had been as close to a public admission of being worried as Henry Spencer would ever get.

"And when you found Ricky's number in my phone records, you drove up to San Francisco just like that? On a whim?"

Henry shrugged. "Pretty much, yes. Turned out to be a correct hunch, after all I missed you only by a couple of hours."

Shawn had to admit that. But he still couldn't get past his surprise that his father had actually come this close to finding him. True, the last time he had left, Henry had not had any reason to come searching for him in the first place, but was it really that easy for his father to figure out what he was going to do if he only tried?

Besides, he tried and failed to imagine what the meeting between his father and Ricky might have been like. He really would have liked to listen in on that conversation.

"So you met Ricky."  
Henry nodded. "Yes, I met Ricky. Turns out he's a refreshingly frank person."

Shawn laughed. "Yeah, that he is. Please don't tell me you started yelling at him, too."

Henry shook his head. "No. But I might have learned a lesson or two meeting him."

"Really?"

Shawn really needed to reconsider the concept of alternate realities. This couldn't be happening, in his reality conversations with his father didn't go like this. Not ever. It was a physical and psychological impossibility.

Henry drew a resolute breath, as if to finally get the real reason for this whole conversation off his chest.

"My point is that it's sometimes hard to see what's right in front of you, even if the people around you try to point it out. It's something different to be told some unpleasant truths by a total stranger, but sometimes that helps more. This whole thing," he gestured around the office. "I've never agreed with what you're doing here because I always thought you could do better. I always thought that you were wasting your talents, that you were doing all this just to spite me. I refused to see that for whatever reason, this here makes you happy. Ricky called it your niche in life, and he's right about that. I just didn't see it."

Shawn was nearly struck speechless. But only nearly. "So all of a sudden you're totally accepting of my choice of career?"

Henry shrugged. "You're not me. And you're not a cop. That wasn't part of my plan for your life, and my plan for your life was so firm that I never listened when you tried to tell me. When you started this whole thing, I only waited for the moment when you'd get bored with it, or when you'd get careless enough for the police to figure out that you're not a real psychic. But that didn't happen, and that should have told me something."

"But I'm still getting by on a lie. All this, all this which you're suddenly so accepting of, is based on a lie. How can that be suddenly good?"

"I don't like the lie. I'm not trying to tell you that I'm totally okay with every decision you made over the past years, Shawn. What I'm trying to say is that I've finally understood that while I could teach you the skills, I can't force you to use them the way I'd like you to. I need to let you do this your own way."

Shawn shook his head. "Yeah, and imposing your will on me has nothing to do with it. Of course not. But now that I've decided I can't do this anymore, you come here and tell me not to close the office. It's always like that, isn't it? I want to do one thing, and you come to tell me to do it differently."  
Henry sighed and shook his head. "No. I just think you need to reconsider why you want to close the office."  
"Because I killed somebody. I killed somebody because a case that started harmless enough turned downhill without prior warning. And I can't risk that ever happening again."

Henry chuckled mirthlessly. "Come on Shawn, let's be honest here."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's supposed to mean that of course there were plenty of signs that this case was going downhill. Lassiter's decision to go into that situation without backup being the first on the list. And if there is one thing I learned during my years as a cop, then it's that once a situation goes downhill like that, there comes a point when all you can do is react. All you and Lassiter were doing during that chase down the mountain was reacting to the threats all around you. You didn't plan for anything to happen, and you certainly didn't plan to kill that guy."

Shawn shrugged. "But he's still dead."

Henry nodded. "Yes, he is. And that won't change. He's dead. You struggled for the gun, it went off and now he's dead. But that doesn't mean it has to happen again."

"But it also means I can't guarantee that it won't happen again."

Shawn got up from his chair and angrily started to pace up and down in front of the window. "That's what closing the office is all about. I can't make sure that this is never going to happen again. I can't guarantee that the next time, it won't be Lassiter, or Juliet, or Gus who dies."

"Shawn, Lassiter and O'Hara are cops. They can die every single time they go into a confrontation. It's their job, and I think they're very well aware of the risks. And Gus is a grown man. He knows what he lets himself in for when he's working cases with you. And even if he didn't when you started out, he certainly does know it now. Why are you trying to shoulder responsibilities that aren't yours to bear?"

"Because when it comes down to it, I'm the one who tells them to go into those situations. Don't you understand that?"

Henry leaned back in his chair and watched his son pace for a moment. "How often have you been wrong?"

Shawn stopped pacing. "What?"

"How often have you been wrong about a case before? How often have you given the police false information, how often has anything you said and done to get them on the right track effectively endangered them?"

"Never."

"Then what is your problem?"

Shawn threw his arms into the air. "You just don't get it, do you? You just don't get it. I killed a man, Dad. Do I have to draw you a picture?"

Henry shook his head. "No. But maybe you should start talking about it."

"What?" Shawn couldn't believe his ears. "You want me to do what?"

Henry shrugged. "Start talking about it. What do you think cops are required to do if they get into a firefight? It's required that they meet up with the Department psychologist if they get into a shootout, especially if there's casualties. I actually wonder why Karen didn't send you to a few mandatory sessions."

"You want me to see a shrink?" Shawn's voice was rising without him being able to do anything against it. "You want me to go to therapy?"

"I want you to work through what happened up on that mountain. Or do you think the nightmares are going to stop on their own?"

Shawn didn't want to, but he knew the expression on his face gave away his surprise.

"Oh come on, kid. Do you honestly think I didn't notice? Give me some credit here, the bags under your eyes are as big as your mother's purses by now. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're not sleeping well. What happened that day on the mountain isn't something that's going to go away on its own, Shawn. I can't say that I know what you feel like, but I know that sometimes this job puts you into situations that are too tough for you to deal with on your own. So how about you swallow your false pride for a moment and go get some help before you throw away something you really care about?"

Shawn sat back down in his desk chair and idly spun it from the left to the right, avoiding to look at his father for a long time.

"I don't need help."

Henry laughed. "Yeah, sure. You're just about to make the biggest mistake of your life, which – if I might add – is something coming from me. I think this is exactly the right time to admit that you need help."

"Talking to a shrink won't make that guy alive again, either."

Henry shook his head. "No, it won't. But it'll make _you_ able to live with it. Maybe it'll make you understand that you didn't even consciously do anything. The gun went off in a struggle. It was an accident. That guy came to that mountain with the intention of killing two people. Believe me that those kind of people know what they let themselves in for every time they take on a job. When that case took such a turn, it all slipped out of your control. And now you're going to let that ruin the one thing in your life that really made you happy. I just don't think that's the right decision."

Shawn still spun the chair to and fro, watching the floor move past his eyes. He didn't want to see a shrink. But his father was right – and it was scary how often he had thought those words over the past hours. He also didn't want to give up Psych. Not because of his father's sudden blessing for his career. But because Psych was what he wanted to do. What he was good at.

"I just think that saving the job you love is worth giving it a shot." Henry continued. "And you are the one who always preaches the American Medical Society's advice on the healthy amount of sleep. It's not going to get better on it's own, Shawn. Not in the long run."

Finally, Shawn looked up. "The nightly sleep should really be worth it."

Henry got up from his chair. "Just let the thought go through your head for a while. I can call Karen for you if you want me to."

A laugh suddenly burst out of Shawn. Henry frowned at him. "What is it?"

Shawn shook his head. "I just remembered. While my memory was gone, for a while there I really thought there was something going on between the two of you."

Henry grimaced. "Please, don't start that again, kid."

He walked around the desks and came to a stop beside Shawn. "I'll get you at your apartment tomorrow at nine to get your bike. How about you buy a new helmet and think things through in the meantime. We can talk on the way."

Henry reached out and squeezed Shawn's shoulder for a moment, then he turned around and left the office.

Shawn sank back in his chair and looked around the office once more. He really didn't want to give this up. He enjoyed what he was doing, and that should be enough to go a little ways to keep it.

Besides, his father was right – there was that thought again. He really needed his nightly sleep.

After a few moments, Shawn got up and left the office. He locked up and turned to walk towards the main road. He needed to find a cab, and then he needed to go buy a new helmet.

Maybe something green this time. Or purple. Well, maybe not purple, but something other than black this time. He could get a custom helmet with the Psych logo airbrushed onto it, that would be free advertising. Something to get business going again after these weeks.

Shawn hailed down a cab and got into it. He'd figure something out for the helmet.

And to get business going again.

One step at a time.


	16. Epilogues

Sorry for the long lack in updates. Especially since this story was finished a while ago, and I just forgot to post the final update. Hope you guys can forgive me. But here you go with two epilogues to round the story up.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Epilogue (I) – ****Time for goodbye**

It was incredible how much stuff could fit into such a small bag.

This couldn't be clothes in there, that was impossible.

Bricks, maybe, gravel or loose stones. But never clothes.

The dimensions of the bag simply didn't allow clothes of that weight to be packed into it, it was a physical impossibility. But then again, Henry had long since suspected that women's bags and purses were somehow connected to wormholes or tears in the time/space continuum, making them look small on the outside and huge on the inside. How else could one explain a woman taking fifteen minutes to find her wallet in a purse the size of an envelope? And that was no random example, that was one of many personal experiences stemming from over a decade of marriage.

Trying hard not to let the strain show, Henry lugged the bag down the stairs and out the front door. Gus' little blue car was standing there with the trunk open, and Henry heaved the bag into it. Was it just his imagination or had the car really sunk a couple of inches when he had heaved the bag into it?

There had to be some sort of secret to that bag, after all Margaret had been here for twelve days all in all, and now that he thought about it he had never seen her wear the same clothes more than once, maybe twice. Just how did she do that? Especially since she seemed to be constantly changing into something warmer, something redder, something less warm or something greener.

Henry slammed the lid of the trunk shut and walked back towards the house. Shawn came hurrying towards him, phone jammed between his ear and shoulder, a sandwich in both hands, talking animatedly. Henry couldn't hear enough to know for sure what the conversation was about, but he got the sinking feeling that Gus didn't exactly know where his car was right now.

Though there hadn't even been the need for Shawn to borrow Gus' car.

Henry could have driven Margaret to the airport easily, he had the time. But Shawn had insisted that he was the one to drive his mother there, and he had flat out refused to take the truck. Not Henry's problem, if the kid wanted to take Gus' car he certainly wouldn't start a discussion about it. In fact, Henry was glad that his son hadn't even considered the idea to strap both his mother and her luggage onto his bike and drive her to the airport. Henry wouldn't have put it past him, especially now that the bike was repaired and Shawn had a new helmet.

A black helmet with the Psych logo airbrushed onto it in a bright green. It looked ridiculous, but his son seemed to absolutely love it. So Henry didn't say anything about it. There could have been worse, like a pink helmet or one of those leather jackets with fringes.

When Henry came back into the house Margaret was standing in the living room, rummaging around in her purse for something. Her keys, judged by her muttering. Henry could have sworn that her arm vanished up to over her elbow in the small purse, but he wasn't sure enough to swear on it.

"Are you all set?"

The jingling of metal announced that Margaret had found her keys and she withdrew her hand from the purse with a nod.

"Yes, I think I got everything. Thanks for taking the bag to the car."

Henry waved her thanks off and together the two of them stepped out of the house. Shawn was standing by the car, still talking loudly into the phone. His level of frustration had obviously risen a notch over the past minute or two, and Henry watched him for a moment with a slight smile.

"I wonder if Gus even knows that Shawn has an own set of keys for his car."

Margaret shook her head. "I doubt it. And if you know what's good for you, you'd better not tell him about it, either."

Henry chuckled. "That's what you get for copying other people's keys without their knowledge. But it might take another moment until the two are finished discussing whether or not Shawn was even supposed to take the car in the first place. He probably took it straight form the parking lot of Gus' firm."

Margaret shook her head with a fond smile. "Yes, and he probably left his bike there in exchange, though he knows fully well that Gus would never sit on it even with the engine off."

She shook her head again and turned back towards her ex-husband. "Thanks for everything Henry."

Henry shook his head. "No need to thank me for anything. Let's just try not to wait another ten years before we talk again."

Margaret smiled. "I heard they recently invented something called a telephone. We could give that a try."

"Yeah." Henry chuckled. "We could. We can always hang up if we're going on each other's nerves."

"That's going to save us a lot of money on long-distance calls."

Henry shuffled his feet nervously. "You know, the next time you come to visit Shawn, you can stay here. I mean, I just want you to know that you can stay at the house whenever you're in town."

A smile showed on Margaret's face. "And what speaks against staying at Shawn's place?"

"You've never been there, have you?" Seeing Margaret shake her head, Henry smiled. "Once you're there, you'll know what I mean. The place could definitely do with a female touch. Or an adult touch, come to think of it. I just want you to know that you can always stay here."

"Thanks Henry." Margaret checked her watch. "I should better get going. I don't want to miss my flight, and security checks take ages these days."

Henry nodded, prepared to say his goodbyes, when suddenly Margaret surprised him by taking a step towards him and wrapping her arms around him. But though he was startled, he hugged her back.

"You do know that Shawn can see us, right? I'm just saying because right now he's probably thinking that the world is spinning off its axis."

Margaret laughed and tightened her arms around Henry for a moment before letting go. "Bye Henry."  
"Goodbye Meg. Have a good flight."

With a smile, Margaret picked up her purse and walked over towards where Shawn was waiting beside the car. Henry had to stop himself from laughing out loud when he saw his son's wide-eyed expression. As Margaret approached the car and sat down in the passenger seat, Shawn said something. He was too far away for Henry to hear, but he was fairly sure that he had caught the words 'Twilight Zone'.

Henry leaned against the doorjamb and watched Shawn get into the car and buckle his seatbelt. As Shawn put the car into gear and drove out of the driveway, Henry raised his hand in a final wave and watched how the car vanished around the bend in the road.

Once it was gone from view, Henry went back inside the house.

This had definitely been an interesting visit.

And now he should probably have a good look around the house and start collecting the things Margaret had forgotten. She always forgot things, he was sure that this hadn't changed over the past ten years. It would be an afternoon-filling activity to gather the stuff she had forgotten to pack, but right now Henry didn't mind.

It was not as if he had a lot of other things on his schedule, he could as well start packing a package to New Jersey.

* * *

**Epilogue (II) – Hello again**

Gus was nearly running to keep up with him, but for once Shawn didn't mind. This was important.

It was the first time the Chief had called him after the official end of his four-week ban from police cases, and it was the first case they were going to work after reopening the agency. Well, the first police case, but the two or three private cases they had worked had not been up to Shawn's usual standard.

They had been great for getting the business going again, but Gus was right. Cheating boyfriends weren't exactly what he was aiming to investigate with the agency. But still, it had been cases, and it had been cases that weren't likely to get out of control. Just the perfect way to get back on the horse.

Two days after their conversation in the Psych office, Henry had called Karen about the mandatory sessions with the department psychologist. From what his father had told him, the Chief had been extremely distraught about the fact that she hadn't even considered applying this standard procedure to Shawn. But there had been a lot of things going on, and Shawn thought that your head detective nearly getting killed in one of the strangest cases in history probably was a good reason to forget about something like that. Not to mention that Chief Vick had been pretty pissed at both, him and Lassiter at the time. It wasn't that he was bearing a grudge against Chief Vick for forgetting.

In fact, it wasn't as if Shawn had been really convinced that talking to a shrink would help him in the first place. But once Vick had been reminded about the fact that every officer involved in a shootout had to meet the department shrink for a mandatory one to three sessions, she had refused to let Shawn get out of this, anyway.

So he could tell himself that he wasn't voluntarily going there.

Besides, he was doing it for the sake of his nightly sleep.

And for the sake of Psych.

He wasn't doing this because he had problems or anything. Well, problems sleeping, obviously, but nothing that would normally require a shrink.

Dr. Hartwig, the department's psychologist, saw things differently. Since Shawn wasn't even a cop but a private consultant who had been involved in a shootout with casualties, he automatically upped the standard amount of sessions required for Shawn to get the _all clear_ for returning back to work up to five.

Five sessions with a shrink.

It was a thought that had made Shawn want to bang his head against the wall the first time he had heard it.

He had sat silently through the first session.

During the second session Dr. Hartwig had politely reminded him that he was the one to clear Shawn for consulting work again, and that he wouldn't do that if Shawn continued in his refusal to talk about what had happened.

During the upcoming sessions, Shawn cursed his perfect memory more than once as he recounted the events that had happened on the mountain in all its gory detail.

After the sixth session, Dr. Hartwig cleared Shawn to work cases again, though he advised him strongly to take another few sessions to work through what had happened.

As of this day, Shawn had had eight sessions with Dr. Hartwig, and he was starting to sleep again. Not undisturbed, at least not every night, but it was getting better. Actually, Shawn didn't even know why, it wasn't as if the doctor had done anything to make it better other than talk to Shawn about what had happened. He hadn't hypnotized him or anything to try and erase the memories. They had simply talked. Mostly, it had been Shawn himself who had done the talking.

But at least Shawn was no longer waking up after a nightmare every night, and he was at least getting some sleep and rest. So maybe he shouldn't question how it had happened but simply accept that it had happened.

And now they'd be working again.

Shawn wanted to work cases again.

There was still this nagging worry that another case might spin out of control and somebody could get hurt. But that would probably never go away. Shawn wouldn't be able to forget the moment when that gun had discharged and Herb's body had fallen atop of his. And maybe that had its good sides, though they were hard to see. But that he couldn't forget the memories of killing a man might make him extra cautious never to let a case get out of hand like that again.

And now the Chief had called them in on a case again. They'd just have to work it and see what happened.

The door to Chief Vick's office was closed, and as Shawn stretched out a hand to open it, Gus suddenly pushed him to the side and knocked first.

"Gus!"

"It's polite to knock, Shawn. It lets people know that you're there and want to come in. It's like asking for permission."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "She called us, Gus. That's like giving permission."

"Enter!" Chief Vick's voice came from inside the office.

With another roll of his eyes, Shawn opened the door and the two stepped into the office. Chief Vick was seated behind her desk, an open file in front of her.

"Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster. It's good that you found the time."

"For our favorite Chief of Police? Are you kidding?"

Vick regarded Shawn with a raised eyebrow, but she let that comment slide. "I called because we need your help on a case, Mr. Spencer. There has been a string of burglaries all over Santa Barbara over the past three weeks. It's always the same MO, we're suspecting a professional crew. They even broke into a number of top-technology safes."

Shawn turned towards Gus. "Did you hear that? Safe crackers."

Gus tried to shrug indifferently, but Shawn could see the spark of excitement in his friend's eyes.

"The burglaries are getting more frequent, and the thieves leave us little forensic evidence to work with. I want you to read the case psychically, Mr. Spencer, while detective Lassiter and O'Hara work the little evidence we have. Do you think you're up to that?"

It was just a side sentence, but Shawn could detect a note of worry in her voice.

"I'm cleared for duty, Chief."

"That's not what I meant, Mr. Spencer. I want to know if you feel up for working cases again."

Shawn nodded. "Yes."

"Good. Then let me know as soon as you have something."

Shawn took the file the Chief held out to him and together he and Gus left the office.

"Do you really feel up to this?" Gus asked as he closed the door behind them.

Shawn sighed and turned towards his friend. "I promise, you'll be the first to know of I change my mind about it. How about we just start working the case and see what comes out of it. I can already feel the spirits gathering."

"Yeah, right." Gus mumbled, but Shawn was already off towards another target. He hurried over towards Lassiter's desk, where the head detective and Juliet were poring over crime scene photos together.

"Lassie! Jules!"

Lassiter actually flinched at Shawn's call before he slowly turned around. There was a deep frown and an expression of suffering on his face. Juliet, on the other hand, was smiling brightly as she saw Shawn approach.

"Shawn, it's good to see you again!"

"Spencer." Lassiter brought out from between clenched teeth.

"Lassie, just admit it. You missed me!"

"Like a bout of herpes." Lassiter picked up the photos from his desk and stuffed them back into the file. "And now excuse me, I've got work to do."

"That wouldn't be the robbery string? You know, the one with the guys cracking the high-security safes?"

"Yes." Lassiter answered cautiously, his mind already busy working out the possible implications of Shawn's knowledge about the case. It was obvious from the expression on his face that he didn't like the conclusions he arrived at.

Shawn beamed. "The Chief just put me on that case as well."

Juliet smiled. "That's great!"

"No, it's not." Lassiter grumbled. "It's definitely not great. It's the exact opposite of great. Do you know how many cases we got solved without your help while you were away, Spencer?"

"Yes, but the important question is: How much fun did you have solving those cases? Come on Lassie, admit it, it was getting kinda boring without me."

"It was definitely more quiet without you."

But Shawn didn't even listen. "So, what do you have?"

"Work to do." Lassiter picked up the file and put on his jacket. "So if you'll excuse me, O'Hara and I have to re-interview some witnesses. I'm sure the spirits will tell you what to do next."

In the background, a cell phone started ringing, and Shawn heard Gus excuse himself.

Lassiter made move to walk past Shawn and out of the station, but Shawn stood in his way.

"Come on Lassie, we both know that you missed me. How about we catch up a little on our way to the witness."

"You're not coming, Spencer."  
"But I thought we were partners!"

Lassiter sighed and his free hand clenched into a fist.

"I don't know what gave you the impression that we're partners, Spencer. We're not. And now, O'Hara and I need to get going."

Lassiter brushed past Shawn, and with a smile Juliet followed him. "It's good to have you back, Shawn." She said as she passed him.

"But we even look like partners!" Shawn called after Lassiter and raised his left arm, which was still in a cast. The head detective, who also still had a cast covering his lower left arm, didn't turn around, but Shawn saw him twitch slightly as he heard Shawn's words.

"We could be cast-partners, Lassie. We could write secret messages on each other's cast! Just give me a pen, and I'll sign yours. It's going to be worth a fortune one day."

Lassiter vanished around a corner and out of the station without turning back once, and Shawn had to give him credit for that. Somebody had obviously given Lassie a few lessons in self-control.

Turning back towards Gus, Shawn felt a smile creep onto his face.

"It's good to be back."

Gus was still talking on the phone, but seeing that Shawn was talking to him, he quickly ended the call.

"I'll tell him. Goodbye Henry."

He closed the phone and put it back into his pocket. "What now? We're going to the office to look at the file?"  
Shawn nodded, but his mind wasn't on it. Something else was occupying his thoughts as he started walking towards the station's exit.

"Why is my Dad calling you?"

Gus shrugged. "He just wanted to remind me that we're invited over for dinner tonight."

"Yes, but why is he calling you? I do have a new cell phone, he knows that."

Gus smiled. "Maybe he knows that you'll only half-listen in the first place and forget all about it as soon as you hang up the phone. Henry obviously knows who the responsible one in our friendship is."

"You see, that's the second thing I'm not getting." They stepped out of the station into the sunlight of the parking lot. "Since when are you and my Dad on a first name basis?"

Gus walked down the front steps and started to walk towards his car without answering. Shawn hurried to catch up.

"Gus, since when are you on a first name basis with my Dad?"

Gus shrugged awkwardly. "Since you left town a few weeks ago."

He unlocked the car and they both got in. Shawn was still frowning.

"I leave town and my Dad offers you to call him Henry? What, he wanted to adopt you or something?"

Gus shook his head. "No. I…well, I kinda might have given him my opinion on his behavior when you left. I thought he was going to kill me for sure, but it turns out he was actually impressed."

"What does that mean, _you gave him your opinion_?"

Gus shrugged awkwardly as he started the car. "I might have yelled at him. Well, him and your Mom."

"You yelled at my Dad?" A wide grin stretched across Shawn's face. "You yelled at him? Gus, that's awesome! I told you it would be a freeing experience. I want to know every detail. What did it feel like?"

"Shawn, you've yelled at your Dad about a million times before. You know what it feels like."

"That's different. It's part of our normal conversational dynamic. But it's got to feel awesome to give him a good telling off about something, out of the blue and without him yelling back."

Gus drove the car out of the parking lot and on the road towards the office. A small smile spread over his face.

"You know, looking back on it, it did actually feel good. If you ever tell your Dad, I'm going to kick your butt, but it actually felt good."

Shawn leaned back in the passenger seat as Gus proudly recounted the tale of _How Gus Yelled at Henry Spencer_.

Yes, it was definitely good to be back.

The End.

* * *

So, this was it. I hope you enjoyed the story. And as always, I'd appreciate it if you let me know what you think. Thanks a lot.


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